My Brother's Keeper
by Edavine
Summary: Garrett Hawke is in love with his brother Carver. He's hid it for years, but losing Bethany made him realize how short life can be. The warrior has no idea until, after a night of drinking, Hawke does something that will change all of their lives. "I made a mistake. A horrid, stupid, wonderful mistake."
1. Chapter 1

Every time I play a Mage!M!Hawke, I always secretly wish the I could do something with Carver. Their banter is absolutely amazing, and when they finally become "friends", it makes me so happy.

I've been working on this for awhile, but I'm not sure how long it'll be. I've all ready got several ideas planned out, but I am always open to suggestions or critique. I will be somewhat following cannon and using some dialogue from the game, but I will also add in extra situations and embellishments.

_Warnings: _Contains cursing, violence, mlove, incest, and sexual situations—implied or no. Rating will probably change at some point, especially with where the story is heading as of now.

Of course, Dragon Age and all parts of it belong to Bioware.

* * *

Chapter One

Garrett—

_He always looked best with a sword in his hands. …Maker, did I really just think that?_

Even if the thought had sounded unintentionally dirty, Garrett could not help but think it was true. Ever since his younger brother had gotten his first sword, Carver always looked happiest when holding it. Even now, almost ten years later.

Carver hadn't noticed his elder brother standing in the doorway. He calmly sits on his pallet, polishing his sword with a soiled rag. Only when Garrett clears his throat does he look up.

"Oh, Brother. How long have you been standing there?" he asks, laying his sword down beside him.

Garrett shifts against the doorway, embarrassed at how long he'd been enraptured by his brother. "Not long. Put a shirt on. We're going out."

"This late? Who're we killing now?"

"Maker, Carver, can't we ever do anything besides killing?"

Carver chuckles softly. "Seems like all we ever do. Not that I mind it, though."

"Well, not tonight, little brother. We're going to the Hanged Man."

"What's the occasion?" Carver asks as he rises from the bed. Garrett's eyes linger on his bare chest for a moment before flashing up to meet his brother's crystal blue eyes.

Garrett clears his throat again before forcing a smile. "Do we have to have one?"

Carver shrugs his _finely formed _shoulders and walks over to the small chest where the brothers keep their clothes. "Fair enough. I'll never turn down a chance for a drink."

He pauses, wriggling into his tunic. Once done, the brothers bid their mother a quick goodbye and head out to the Hanged Man. While walking from Gamlen's shack to the tavern, Carver looks over at his brother. "Ah, who all is coming?"

Garrett deeply inhales, trying to recall what Varric had said. "Well, Varric and Isabela, but that's a given. Fenris and Anders may drop by which should be rather interesting." Carver sighs softly, and Garrett laughs, enjoying teasing his brother. "Were you hoping Merrill could come?"

Blushing softly, Carver breaks eye contact. "Not hoping. I mean, she's a friend. Friends get drinks together sometimes, so I was just wondering. Didn't mean anything-"

"Calm down, Carver. I was just teasing," Garrett says, looking over at his brother. Carver's blush had deepened to a dark red. Garrett had always loved how easily flustered his brother was. "Merrill's coming too."

"Oh," Carver breathes. "Oh."

"Try not to drink too much," Garrett warns. "We don't want you making a fool of yourself. _Again._"

Carver glances over at his brother, a glimmer in his eye. "As long as you promise not to get drunk and start making out with Fenris in front of me. _Again._"

Garrett groans loudly. "One time and you still won't let me live it down!"

Of course, Carver had freaked out when it happened. Garret had come out years ago back in Lothering, but he'd never actually _seen_ his brother with another man. One too many ales had caused that little fiasco which resulted in Carver hiding in the back room for an hour and Anders not speaking to Garrett for three days.

Now, though, Garrett could tell Carver hadn't wholly accepted the idea of his brother being gay, but it didn't bother him nearly as much. Now, if he knew that he was the reason his brother knew was gay, well, he might not take that as well…

_Damnit it, Garrett, he's your brother. Your younger brother. Why do you still feel this way about him?_ Garrett sighs, rubbing his palm against his eye. No matter how many times he told himself that the feelings were wrong and unnatural, they never went away.

"Uh, Garrett?" Carver calls, breaking the elder Hawke from his thoughts. "You just passed the Hanged Man."

"Hm? Oh, sorry," Garret mumbles. "I was thinking about…something."

Carver steps closer to his brother, examining his face closely. "You sure you're up for this? Your face is really red."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he mutters, pushing his way into the tavern before Carver noticed his blush deepen.

"There you are!" Varric exclaims as the brothers walk into his room. "We were about to start the party without you."

"Pup, you came," Isabela purrs, sidling up to him.

Carver coughs nervously and takes a seat at the table. "I always come, Isabela."

She sits in the seat next to him, scooting her chair closer. She whispers something in his ear, causing his face to pale and him scoot his chair over. She laughs seductively, completely oblivious to Garrett's death glare.

_Sodding dirty ass skanky whore._ Garrett drains the rest of his drink and orders another, all without ceasing to glare. _With greasy hair to boot._

When they'd first met, Isabela had been all over Garrett too. Once she found out that he swung the other direction, she transferred her attention to Fenris then Carver once the elf made it clear that the only person he was interested in was Garrett.

"Why must you go on about this?" a familiar, gravely voice growls. "No magister would turn down an advantage over his rivals. If he did, he'd be dead."

"Here come the lovebirds," Varric sighs.

Anders stops midsentence as he walks in the doorway. "That better not have been about us."

The dwarf hums thoughtfully. "Hm, you know that could make for an interesting story. Don't you think, Rivaini?" Isabela grunts in response, still trying to seduce poor Carver.

"If you even dare…" Fenris threats, plopping into the seat next to Garrett. Anders glares at the elf before his eyes flicker over to gaze at Garrett and his expression melts into one of sadness.

"You have to admit you two do spat like lovers," Varric grins. "I'm surprised Hawke doesn't feel threatened by it."

Garrett shrugs nonchalantly. "Personally, I think it's rather endearing." Fenris smoothly props his arm on the back of Garrett's chair, letting his hand rest on the man's shoulder.

Varric groans and slumps in his seat, appearing even shorter. "Ancestors, all ready? Can't you put off the romantic shit for ten minutes and let me get drunk first?"`

"You know, if you'd join us you wouldn't have to watch," Garrett teases.

"Hawke!" Fenris exclaims, looking positively exasperated.

"Sorry, Hawke, but I'm just not into humans. Too tall and lanky."

"Your loss. I happen to like lanky," says Garrett, which makes Fenris smirk softly and Anders go red in the face.

A loud commotion sounds from the front of the tavern. Varric chuckles softly. "Sounds like Daisy's here." Carver straightens up in his seat, glancing earnestly at the doorway.

Sure enough, Merrill comes stumbling in moments later, her cheeks all ready pink. "Oh, I'm the last one here? Again."

"You know what that means, Kitten," Isabela smiles, finally turning her attention from Carver.

The little elf sighs. "I buy the first round."

"You know, Daisy, if you got here on time, maybe someone would get a chance to buy you a drink," Varric points out.

Merrill fidgets, her face flushing softly. "Oh, but sometimes—well, every time—I get lost, and then I have to go back to the Alienage and I get lost on my way back and then I have to start again, but I usually get lost again and by that time I can't find my way around the Alienage, so I just wander around until I end up here." She takes a deep breath and smiles cheerfully at the others.

Anders raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Merrill, you do realize you live a hundred paces from Hawke, right? I'm sure you can find his house and then walk with them here."

The little Dalish's face instantly lights up. "Oh, what a grand idea! I mean, if that's okay with you, Hawke."

"Y-Yes, that's a good idea!" Carver says a little too quickly.

Garrett smirks at Carver's antics. "Fine by me."

"Well, I'd better go tell Norah to bring a round then," Merrill says before hop-skipping away.

* * *

Carver—

"S-So, then he said…he said…he-" Garrett cuts himself short, giggling like an apprentice.

"Hawke, jussh tell ush what 'e said, Hawke," Isabela slurs.

Garrett falls forward on the table, giggling manically. Suddenly, he shoots up and looks around somberly. "I don't know," he says before collapsing into another giggle fit.

Carver groans and goes over to his brother. He'd only had a couple drinks and decided to stop. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Merrill had been sitting less than two feet away from him.

"Come on, Brother. It's time to head home."

"B-But, I wasshn't done wit' my-y story," he mutters.

"Yes, you were. Now let's go."

Anders had left hours ago. Fenris had passed out on the table sometime after then—some one should probably take him home—and Isabela and Varric are still drinking, as usual. Only Merrill sits unscathed, barely able to swallow the swill much less get drunk off it.

"Ah, Carver, am I walking with you tonight?" Merrill asks timidly. She looks rather uncomfortably surrounded by all her drunken friends.

"Oh, u-uhm, if you want," Carver stutters, looking down at his plastered brother. "We can go now. I'll come back and get Garrett later."

"Is that his name? I've only heard people call him Hawke before," she muses. "Why don't they call you Hawke?"

Carver shrugs. "Because he's the more important one."

"That's not true," Merrill objects. "You're just as important as he is."

"Thanks, Merrill. You ready to go?"

"Yes, please!"

Carver casts one last look at his brother. He had dozed off on the table next to Fenris, contently murmuring something unintelligible. "Varric, watch Garrett, will you?"

"Ssure thing, Junior," Varric mumbles, half drunk. Even though he'd start drinking long before anyone else would even get there, Varric would never get drunk.

Merrill and Carver quickly step outside. The full moon above shines down on them, illuminating the path.

"So," Merrill finally starts, "that was…fun."

"It was crazy," Carver sighs.

"Your brother is a funny drunk," she giggles.

He smirks. "That he is."

She looks over at him as they walk and softly smiles. "I'm glad you two are getting along now."

"What do you mean?"

The little elf looks down at the ground. "When you first came to get me from Sundermount, I thought you hated him. You snapped at him for every little thing he did and always argued. You never smiled, even when he wasn't around."

Carver sighs, running his fingers through his hair. "I was such an ass."

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that!" she quickly interjects.

"Even if you didn't, it was still true," he says softly.

"What changed? I mean, did something happen to make you like your brother again?"

"I—" Carver pauses. What did make him like Garrett again? Once they got to Kirkwall, Garrett had seemed to realize that he only had one sibling now. He started taking Carver with him everywhere, giving him things, and letting him help support the family too. "…I'm not sure. It was gradual. He was nice. We were together more often. He made me feel…important. Wanted."

Merrill smiles sweetly, her doe-like eyes shining. "I told you you were important."

He feels his face flush, unable to look away from her large, gorgeous eyes. "I—thank you, Merrill."

She opens her mouth as if to say something but cuts herself off. "Oh, look, the Alienage! I didn't realize it was that close."

"It's not that far if you know where you're going," Carver smiles.

Her cheeks flush cutely. "Thank you, Carver. I hope—nevermind. I'll just see you later, then?"

"Goodnight, Merrill. Stay safe."

She heads inside her house, quickly shutting the door behind her. Carver exhales slowly. _Time to go get the drunk then._

He makes it halfway back to the Hanged Man before he sees a figure stumbling towards him. "Garrett? Damn it, dwarf, I told you to watch him."

"H-Hey, Carv," Garrett says, sounding even more drunk than before, if it's possible.

"Garrett, what are you doing out here? You're drunk. It isn't safe."

"Oh, I'm fine!" the elder Hawke says, throwing his arms around his brother's neck. I've got you 'ere to pr'tect me."

"Come on, let's go home."

"No, no," Garrett protest, squeezing him tighter. "Let's stay out here."

Carver stares at his brother in disbelief. He'd never gotten this drunk before. "You're drunk. We're going home."

Garrett doesn't respond for the longest time, just stares up at Carver's face in silence. "Did'ja kiss 'er?"

"What?" Carver cries.

"Did'ja kissh 'er?" his brother repeats.

"Kissh…_kiss_ who, Garrett?"

"T-The littl' Dalisshh one. Wit' the…face."

Carver raises an eyebrow. "You mean Merrill? No, I didn't kiss her. I just walked her home."

Garrett half laughs. "Good."

"'Good?' Why don't you want me to kiss Merrill?" Carver asks. "You know I like her."

"Because," Garrett says pointedly.

"Because isn't an answer," sighs Carver. _Maker, I'm sounding like Mother._

"'Cause I dun want you t' kissh an' one else."

"Else? What do you mean—"

Garrett's lurches forward, pressing his lips against his brother's. Shocked, Carver stands there, completely unsure of what to do. The taste of alcohol floods his mouth as Garrett pulls away.

The action seems to wake Garrett from his drunken stupor. His eyes widen as he realizes what he'd done. "Carv, I—oh, Maker!" He stumbles backwards and staggers down the street.

Still in shock, Carver barely notices his drunken brother sloppily running. He stands there, frozen, tongue tingling with liquor. He slowly raises a hand to his lips, feeling the strange warmth fading away.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Anders—

_Maybe if I keep glaring at him he'll leave Kirkwall._

It's a ridiculous thought, Anders admits to himself, but that doesn't make him ease up his glowering. The damn elf stumbles down the street, letting an even more drunk Hawke carry his weight. The two whisper to each other before bursting out in a loud, obnoxious laugh.

The broody mage seethes to himself, hating himself for hating his friend's happiness. But seeing Hawke with that elf pushed him over the edge. _What does Hawke see in him? What does he have that I don't?_

He had left the Hanged Man an hour ago, but when he got there the place was crawling with templars. _Bloody maggots, why can't they just leave me alone?_ Not knowing where else to go, he had run back to the Hanged Man. When he got there, Garrett and the elf had been falling drunkenly all over each other, so he went outside.

_Not a good idea_, he though to himself, rubbing his arms against the cold. _Robes are not good for keeping warm._

He turns to head back to Darktown, hoping the templars are gone when something catches his eye. Fenris stumbles down the street and back into the Hanged Man _alone_.

They couldn't have gotten to Gamlen's house and back in that short time. _So where's Hawke?_

Anders finds himself walking down the streets of Lowtown. Even if he found Hawke, the man would be too drunk to comprehend anything. Then again, the streets of Lowtown are dangerous at night. Hawke would never make it out alive if thugs attacked him now.

He quickens his pace, a hand nervously gripping his staff. He didn't have to look very far, though, because Hawke runs past him before stumbling to the ground. Anders calls out as he runs to the man's side.

"Anders?" Hawke slurs, drunkenly looking up at him in bewilderment.

"Damn it, Hawke. What are you doing?" Anders quickly scans Hawke's body, making sure he's okay. Not hurt, but obviously had a bit too much to drink. "Are you crazy? You could've hurt yourself."

Hawke drops his head against Anders's chest, mumbling softly. "I'm so stupid…"

Even if it was only from the alcohol, Anders can't help but blush at the proximity. "What are you…?"

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Hawke mutters, tapping his hand on Ander's chest emphatically with each word.

"Hawke," Anders murmurs, softly laying his hand on Hawke's head, "what happened?"

Hawke doesn't answer, instead just curls closer against the other mage's chest. Anders looks down at his friend, conflicted. It hurts him to watch the man suffer like this.

It had only been a couple months since the Ferelden had sauntered into his clinic, practically emanating charm. Hawke had enraptured him from the moment they met, and even more so after he had comforted him after Karl's death. Of course, the elf had been with him then and hated Anders straight away for the sole fact that he was a mage.

There was something about him. He was always deflecting other's attacks with humour. Even when fighting, Hawke was a tease. He didn't wield fire or other elementals like most mages, but chose to fight with entropic energies. It was always quite a spectacle to watch his target stumbling around the battlefield, suddenly screaming or falling asleep or being lifted in the air by seemingly nothing.

Perhaps that's why he got on so well with Fenris. Hawke was a mage, but he used his magic mostly to incapacitate their enemies. They might stumble forward, suddenly confused or freeze in place out of fear, and Fenris would dash forward and finish them off.

There's also the fact that Hawke—a mage—doesn't seem to like mages. The apostate believes that the Circle is necessary and all mages should be there. If there is any logic in that, Anders will never understand it.

Hawke places a careful hand on Anders's chest and sniffles slightly. He very rarely acts seriously or lets others in on how he really feel. That'ss why this worries Anders so much. Even when drunk, Hawke had never gotten this emotional before. He knows it's wrong, but he can't help but enjoy holding Hawke like this.

The drunken mage pulls back slowly and looks up at Anders sleepily. Anders sighs and slowly stands, pulling Hawke to his feet. "Come on, Hawke, I'll take you home."

"No!" Hawke exclaims suddenly. "Not home. Can't…"

"Why can't you go home?"

"I…I can't," he whispers.

"Well, I can't just leave you out here," Anders groans.

Hawke looks up at the other mage and smiles cutely. "Take me home wit' you."

"Uh…what?" Anders clears his throat, feeling his cheeks flushed. He had often dreamed of hearing those words but not like this.

"Please, Anders."

Anders coughs awkwardly. "A-All right. Come on then."

* * *

Garrett—

The dull pounding in the back of his head beats steadily as he wakes. Garrett cracks his eyes open, instantly squeezing them shut against the blinding light. _Ugh, how much did I drink last night?_

Someone shifts next to him, and Garrett jumps up. A pair of shocked brown eyes stare back up at him. "Anders?!" he cries. He stumbles backwards, the bedsheets tangling around his legs, and he plummets to the floor.

"Oh, now look at what you've done," Anders groans, sleepily rubbing his eyes.

"What are you-? Where are-? _Maker_, what happened?" Garrett exclaims. Anders smirks down at him, obviously amused by his bewilderment.

"Drank too much last night, hm?" the other mage teases.

Garrett clears his throat, eyes darting to the floor. "Did, uh, we…?"

"Unfortunately, no," Anders says. "And trust me, if we had, you'd definitely remember it."

"Oh really?" Garrett chuckles before growing somber again. "Then why am I—"

Suddenly, everything comes rushing back. The drinking, the fiasco with Carver, the encounter with Anders. Sighing, Garrett runs his hand through his dark tresses.

"Well, now that you're mostly sober," Anders starts, leaning over to pull Garrett back up on the bed, "care to tell me what you were wailing about last night?"

"Do I have to?" Garrett nervously asks, trying in vain to untangle himself from the sheets. Anders chuckles and helps free his friend before reclining back and resting his hands on his bare chest.

"You don't have to, I just figured you'd like to since you were so upset last night. You didn't even want to go back to Gamlen's house," Anders chuckles softly. "Though I wouldn't really want to go there either."

"It was…" Garrett inhales softly before sighing, "a mistake."

"I see," Anders replies, skeptically raising an eyebrow.

Garrett curls up, pulling the freed sheets up to cover his bare torso. "A horrid, stupid, wonderful mistake."

"I…see." Anders stops to pull his long hair up into its usual ponytail. "I guess I won't ask about it then."

Garrett flops back on Anders's bed, and the mage smiles down at him, a strange look in his eyes. "Thank you, Anders."

Anders suddenly laughs and lies back next to Garrett. "Do you know what Fenris is going to say when he finds out you spent the night next to me?"

Groaning, Garrett runs a hand down his face. "Maker, he's going to kill me. Or you."

"Or both," Anders adds cheerfully.

"Maybe if we don't say anything he won't find out?" Garrett offers.

Anders rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. "You really want to keep a secret like this from your broody boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Garrett mutters.

The other mage raises an eyebrow, barely able to bite back his smile. "Oh, really? That's good to know." Garrett groans and glares up at Anders, who bursts out laughing. "Oh, let me have my moment. A man can dream, hm?"

Garrett doesn't say anything, instead just nervously popping his fingers. "Stop that," Anders says, poking his hand. "That's not good for you."

"It doesn't hurt anything, does it?" he questions, looking up at the healer.

"No, but it's annoying," Anders says bluntly, and Garrett can't help but laugh. Anders smiles softly before looking at him strangely again. "Hawke? Fenris…hasn't hurt you, has he?"

"What?" Garrett cries, sitting straight up. "No, he hasn't. He wouldn't."

"I just—" Anders sighs, looking a mixture of worried and relieved. "I don't trust him. You didn't want to talk about it, and this is the first thing you've openly wanted to hide from Fenris."

"It doesn't have anything to do with him," Garrett says softly.

Anders sits up, staring into Garrett's eyes. "If that mage-hating slave ever does anything to hurt you…I don't think I could control myself."

Garrett can see the hurt flashing in his friend's eyes, and he swallows the rising lump in his throat. "He's not a slave."

He flops backwards, and after a minute Anders lies back beside him. Garrett rolls onto his side and snuggles deeper into the blankets. "Your bed is so much softer than the one back at Gamlen's house."

Anders smiles at the other man, his eyes glimmering softly. "Glad you like it. I thought you'd be uncomfortable sharing one with me."

"And why would you think that?"

"You and I don't often…see eye to eye," Anders murmurs.

"Doesn't mean you're not my friend," smiles Garrett.

"Well, then," Anders says, reaching out to play with a strand of Garrett's hair, "you are welcome to use my bed anytime." When Garrett raises a curious eyebrow, Anders ducks his head, blushing. "I mean, since you apparently can't return to Gamlen's."

"Ah, right. Thanks," Garrett sighs, pulling away from Anders's hand.

Anders sighs and leans back. "As much as I enjoy lying here with you, weren't we supposed to go check out Varric's tip in the Alienage this morning?"

"Ah, shit," sighs Garrett. "Completely forgot about that."

"Your stuff is on that box over there," Anders says as he stands, picking up his own robe. "I'll see if I can scrounge up some food."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Fenris—

_Ungh, how much did I drink last night?_

Fenris groans, rubbing his face sleepily. Somehow he'd made it back to Danarius's mansion last night and had promptly fallen asleep on the bed, armour and all. He rolls his shoulders, knowing that he'll be sore all day now.

"Fenris?" a familiar voice calls out. Hawke. He never knocks. _Not that I'd be able to hear him even if he did._

"One moment," Fenris calls back. He splashes some water on his face from a bowl to try to wake himself up. Hawke walks into the room as he pats his face dry.

Hawke smirks at him, giving him a once-over. "Fenris, you look like hell."

"Can't say you look much better," the elf grumbles. He frowns as Anders walks in the room, a sheepish look on his face. _Strange. Hawke and Carver always come to get me first._

Speaking of Carver…

"Where is your brother, Hawke?" Fenris asks as he bends over to pick up Lethendralis.

Hawke looks down at the ground and runs his hand through his dark hair. Fenris frowns, immediately knowing that something is wrong. "Ah, Carv is at Gamlen's still."

"Why? Is he not coming?"

"I, ah…"

Fenris raises an eyebrow at Hawke's nervousness. _Did something happen?_ "He did say he wanted to come with us because we might be meeting with a templar."

Hawke sighs. "Yeah, he did want to."

"And the Alienage is right past your house," Fenris says, noticing Anders glaring at him harder than usual. _Both of them? Is everyone foul today? I thought that was my thing._

"Well, ah, I guess we can go get him and then check out the Alienage," Hawke mumbles. Fenris shakes his head, brushing Hawke's odd behaviour aside, and follows him out of the mansion.

The walk to Lowtown is silent. Normally, Fenris would prefer silence, but today it is…unsettling.

"You two, ah, wait out here," Hawke mutters softly, hesitating at the door.

"We always do," Fenris says bluntly. Even though he knows his friends don't mind, Hawke refuses to let anyone else inside the shack. The abomination lives in Darktown, Isabela sleeps in the Hanged Man, the blood mage stays in the Alienage, and he'd once been a slave. They'd all seen and lived in poverty, but Hawke stubbornly refuses to allow them in.

The door shuts quietly behind Hawke, and Fenris casts a confused glance over at the abomination. Anders stares at the door, his gaze a mixture of longing and pity. "Am I…" Fenris pauses until the mage looks over at him, startled that they are even speaking, "missing something?"

Anders coughs, obviously struggling to find an answer. _He definitely knows what is going on._ "I am…not sure. I only know that Hawke is out of sorts today."

Fenris snorts, turning to look back at the door. "That is an understatement."

It seemed to take forever, but soon Hawke comes back out, looking a little pale in the face. Fenris raises a dark eyebrow. "And Carver?"

"He's…coming," Hawke says.

After a couple minutes, Carver walks out, his own sword strapped to his back. He immediately takes his place to the left of Hawke, coughing nervously. Fenris eyes him curiously as he shifts from foot to foot. _What has gotten into everyone?_

"Please, Ser Thrask," a foreign tongue lilts as the round the corner into the Alienage, "he won't go to the Circle willingly, but it's the only place…"

A lithe, blonde elf pleads with a templar beside the Vhenadahl. The templar sighs, running a hand through his red hair. "Madam, we'll do our best to find your son, but I cannot guarantee his safety if he continues to resist templar jurisdiction."

The woman gasps softly. "He's just a boy!"

"He's an apostate," the templar counters harshly.

Carver nudges Fenris in the side. "Think this templar might know something about Varric's tip?"

"Can't hurt to check," he responds. "Hawke?" The elder brother only nods before approaching the two before them.

The elven woman sniffs softly, rubbing at her eyes with the palm of her hand. The templar seems to soften. "I am sorry for your loss, Mistress. But I can offer your son mercy only if he turns himself in."

"I'm trying to find him, but—"

"The templars cannot tolerate apostates," the man says, hardening again.

Carver looks over at Hawke pointedly. "This'll be Mother if we're not careful."

"Then we'd better be careful, shouldn't we?" Hawke murmurs back.

The woman begins to sobs, only stopping when Hawke greets her with his usual charm. Fenris smiles to himself, remembering how bold and charming Hawke had acted when they first met. He'd never been interested in a mage—or a man for that matter—but there was something about Hawke, something in his manner that made everyone around him want or want to be him.

The frantic cries of the elven woman—he must've missed her name—snap him back to reality. Something Hawke had said must've upset her. "He's just a boy. Talk to him. I know you'll see he's a good lad. He just…needs to be protected from himself."

She hesitates for a moment before telling them where the boy might be found: with his father or the templar whom she had been arguing with earlier.

"We'll find him before the templars," the abomination butts in. "Don't trust them to have your son's best interest at heart."

Carver shifts nervously. "The boy sounds one breath away from becoming an abomination. Let's get to him fast."

As soon as they speak to the merchant Vincento, Fenris immediately takes a disliking to him. He acts too suave, trying to sweet talk Hawke into buying his wares. He'd never particularly liked Antivans, but this one rubs him the wrong way.

The merchant immediately denies having a son, but when Hawke summons a bit of magic in his palm, his attitude immensely changes. "_Maldición_! You're a mage! I suppose you'd be kind, then, to a boy who resists being taken in by templars?"

The abomination chuckles softly. "You have no idea."

"Yes, evidently so," Fenris growls, eying Hawke warily. In the short time that they'd known each other, Hawke had never been extremely lenient on mages. _Perhaps the abomination has been rubbing off on him…_

"The boy's in over his head," Vincento warns, "so I sent him to the only man I know who doesn't despise mages. A former templar named Samson."

Hawke looks at the shady Antivan skeptically. "Why would a templar help him?"

"His conscious plagues him, having served the templars too long. He now helps mages on the run." The merchant then tells them where to find this Samson.

Fenris casts a spiteful glare at the merchant as they walk away. He may have given them useful information, but that didn't mean he had to like him.

"I guess we go see that templar now?" Carver offers cautiously. Fenris didn't know why, but both Anders and Carver had been tiptoeing around Hawke all day. He ground his teeth together, getting very aggravated at the whole lot of them.

"Which one?" Fenris asks, gritting his teeth. "The one arguing with the mother or the friend of the shady merchant."

Carver nods his head in agreement. "Vincento may had been feeding us false information to throw us off the trail. We don't even know if this Samson exist."

"And what if Samson is real? We're only wasting time going to the Gallows," the abomination chimes in.

"There's still several hours until sun set," Carver points out. "We won't be able to find him until it's dark, so why not go see that templar while we wait."

"To the Gallows then," Hawke says.

Fenris always hated going to the Gallows. Even now, months after his first visit, it still unnerves him. He'd once asked Hawke about his safety there, and the man had brushed it off with a joke as usual. Still, he can't help but worry for the man every time they go there.

Speaking to Thrask only confirms Vincento's story about Samson being in Lowtown. The abomination smugly gloats that he was right, which sets Fenris into an even worse mood. The sun begins to set as they make their way to Lowtown, each man silently brooding. _Can't believe that templar thought I was part of the Alienage._

Apparently, Vincento had warned Samson about their arrival, so he was prepared. Unfortunately, the bastard gives them no real useful information, only that the boy _might _be at the docks. Even the abomination hates the ex-templar, something they surprisingly agree on.

As they walk towards the docks, Fenris gazes up at the moon steadily rising higher into the sky. He sighs, knowing that none of them will be getting any sleep that night.

* * *

Carver—

He doesn't sleep at all that night. He lies flat on his pallet, staring straight up at the ceiling, waiting for the door to open and for Garrett to come stumbling in.

He never does.

The next morning, Mother is frantic when she realizes that Garrett had been gone all night. She about sends him to go alert the guards when Gamlen reminds her that Garrett is a grown man and that she shouldn't worry so. _For once, the old man and I agree._

A couple hours later, there's a knock, and Carver immediately knows it's him. Garrett lets himself in, shuffling inside the house slowly. Mother yells at him for a good ten minutes but finally gives up when she realizes that he's not even paying attention. She finally stomps off to the room that she and Gamlen share, the latter shaking his head in laughter before following her.

Garrett turns to look at Carver. _The moment of truth._ He inhales deeply, exhales, and inhales again. "Hi."

"Hi," Carver responds cautiously.

"Hi," Garrett repeats.

Carver clears his throat nervously. "Sleep well?"

"I, ah, suppose."

"Y-You know, Mother was fussing about you being gone for a full two hours before you even got here," Carver says, desperate to try to make the situation any less awkward.

"I…stayed with a friend," Garrett mutters.

"Fenris?"

"No!" he exclaims a little too loudly. "No. Anders."

Carver laughs dryly. "Please, make sure I'm there when the elf finds out."

Garrett coughs softly, looking anywhere other than at Carver. The younger brother sighs. "So, what do you want?"

"We're going to check out the Alienage now," Garrett says softly. "You said you wanted to come because Varric mentioned templars."

Carver's eyes widen. "You…remembered?"

Garrett chuckles awkwardly. "Actually, it was Fenris who reminded me."

"How nice of him."

"So, uh, you coming?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute," Carver says, turning to get his things.

The door shuts behind his back and Carver leans forward to rest his head against the wall. _Maker, today is going to be awful_.

As soon as he steps outside, Carver realizes the situation is ten times worse. Garrett had decided to bring his boytoy, his abomination, and his brother that he apparently has a thing for. _Why didn't that ogre take me instead?_

The "small rumour" Varric had heard turned out to be pretty big. Apostates, ex-templars, and kidnappers. Not what he'd been expecting. They spend most of the day running around trying to track down _yet another mage._

The moon stands high in the night sky as they make their way to the warehouse on the docks, its reflection glistening beautifully in the water. Sometimes, he thought Isabela had the right idea. Get a boat and sail away from everything—templars, mages, bothersome brothers. _Too bad I don't know how to sail. Not to mention my terrible seasickness._

They quickly clear the warehouse of the bandits. Opening one of the back door, they find something that Carver had never seen before.

A young girl, probably around his age, being cornered by a handful of kidnappers. She looks panic-stricken, falling to the ground in terror. A bright, golden light envelops her thin frame. Her body shakes and trembles before expanding into a grotesque mass of flesh. "She's a…an abomination," he mumbles in shock.

Fenris claps him on the shoulder, waking him from his daze, and Carver realizes that the girl—_abomination_—is attacking. He shakes his head once more as her pulls out his sword.

Carver stands over the body of the abomination, drawing laboured breath after breath. Anders joins him and sighs softly. "That poor girl. I wonder who she was."

"That…" Carver inhales, "is what an abomination looks like?"

"You've never seen one?" Anders asks, raising a thin eyebrow.

"There weren't many mages in Lothering," the younger Hawke answers, shaking his head. "This is the first one we've fought in Kirkwall."

"Why don't you see if there's anything identifiable on her?" Garrett calls while looting a kidnapper.

Carver shakes his head violently and backs away from the body. Anders shrugs and bends down next to the corpse. "Hm…her name was Olivia, and she…"

"She what?" Garrett asks, walking to join the mage.

"Was Thrask's daughter."

"The templar?" Fenris asks, raising a dark eyebrow.

Anders shrugs and folds up the note. "I guess everyone's got their own secrets."

"Did we find any information about the mage?"

"Not yet," Garrett answers. "May be in this chest though."

"Let's hope so," the elf sighs. "I really hate scrounging."

Garrett pulls out some things that could fetch them a lot of coin before picking up a small note. "Some one in Darktown named Danzig recently purchased one man. That's got to be our guy."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Garrett—

_Maker, this is awkward._

He'd known it was a bad idea to even attempt going out today with anyone, but he had promised Varric he'd check in on the rumour. Garrett Hawke may be a smartass, sarcastic, Ferelden bastard, but he was a smartass, sarcastic, Ferelden bastard who keeps his promises.

At least until Fenris reminded him of the promise he'd made Carver. Of all the people he hadn't wanted to see today, Carver was at the top of the list. Of course, he probably didn't want to see Garrett either.

So, when Carver sees him in the house and didn't punch him in the jaw, Garrett gets very confused. _Perhaps he doesn't remember, or he's forgiven me. Maybe he liked it._ Garrett shakes the thought from his head and decides not to let himself get carried away.

Anders hovers around Garrett the entire time, even more so than usual. Maybe he thinks that he had to protect Garrett from Carver or Fenris or maybe he's hoping to exploit Garrett's emotional state. Perhaps asking to stay at his house hadn't been the best idea…

It's obvious that Fenris knows something's up. Thankfully, the elf understands boundaries, unlike most of their other companions. Garrett can see the frustration etched on his face, but he at least has the sense to not ask about it.

Now, here they are, standing in Darktown in the early morning light. "Anyone know what this Danzig fellow looks like?" Garrett sighs, for the first time wishing he was back on the pallet at Gamlen's.

"Since he's a slaver, I'd suppose he'll have a portion of his workers or mercenaries with him," Fenris replies. "Shouldn't be too hard to find him if he does."

Fenris was right, of course. Danzig and his men were gathered at one of the more separate areas of Darktown. _The perfect setting for a fight._

Danzig and his men seem to finally notice them, and a wicked grin spreads across the slaver mage's face. "Why, look here, boys. Volunteers!"

Garrett inwardly groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, really not wanting to deal with this. "Fenris…Make him talk."

"I can do that," Fenris smiles. Thanks to the lyrium tattoos, Danzig spills his information in less then a minute, begging for his life. Which, of course, he lost.

"Looks like the took him to some bolt hole on the Wounded Coast," Garrett says after searching Danzig's body. "I wonder if that's near the Injured Cliffs? Limping Hills? Massive Head Trauma Bay?" Everyone else seems to be in too foul of a mood to pay attention to his joke. "No? Just me? Forget I said anything…"

The sun is high in the sky once they get to the Wounded Coast. Garrett's stomach growls in complaint of the missed meals, so he gnaws on a small biscuit Anders had given him yesterday.

As they travel up the hills of the coast, the sounds of battle come from ahead. One look at Fenris, who replies with a curt nod, and the group takes off running. A dwarf stands against a rock, angrily yelling at the men trying to kill a group of spiders. Garrett and his companions make easy work of the spiders before turning to the dwarf.

"Out of your element, dwarf?" Garrett teases.

"No thanks to this lot. Can't get a decent blade at a bargain anymore." The dwarf scratches his beard thoughtfully. "You though, you're what a man needs—a skilled enthusiast."

Anders coughs, trying to cover his laughter at the unintentional double entendre, but Garrett flashes the mage a silencing look, which only result in Anders bursting into a coughing fit. "You know," Garrett says, turning back to the dwarf, "you can start making sense any time now."

"My manners!" the dwarf exclaims before dropping into a stout bow. "Javaris Tintop, merchant and investor. I need forward thinkers to help court the Qunari."

"I do not think you are their type," Fenris deadpans, starting up another coughing fit from Anders.

The dwarf explains that he's after the qunari explosive powder—gaatlok. The mage clears his throat, finally gaining control of himself. "I have heard of this. It's why their ships are so feared."

"Then I doubt they were eager to sell," Garrett says, raising a skeptical eye at the eye.

"Damn Arishok said I wasn't worthy, for whatever reason," Javaris grumbles.

"Can't imagine why," Fenris adds.

"He said that their outcasts—the Tal-Vashoth—are only that mercenary, so I went to talk to them. Didn't go over well."

"Oh, I would've paid to see that," Carver chuckles. Garrett turns to look towards his younger brother, who catches his gaze before dropping it to look back at the ground.

"I got to thinking," Javaris continues, "maybe he'll bargain if I rid him of something that bothers him more than, well, me."

"The Tal-Vashoth," Garrett groans. _Qunari. Just what we need._

Javaris nods. "So, are you up for some paid hunting?"

Garrett turns to catch his companions' opinions. They all seem to think it could be a good idea, so he turns back to Javaris. "All right, we'll step in for you. For a price."

The shady dwarf agrees, telling them that the Qunari are further up the Wounded Coast before leaving. "So," Anders starts, "we rescue the boy, kill the Qunari, and make it home in time for supper."

"Oh, don't mention supper," Carver groans. "I haven't eaten all day."

"Here," Garrett says softly, tossing his brother his last remaining biscuit.

"Where did—Nevermind." Carver pauses, examining the biscuit in his hands. "Thank you…Brother."

After running around and getting lost and running around some more, they finally reach the slaver's cavern. Quickly dispatching a group of slavers, they run into a large room, where the others are waiting for them.

The head slaver has Feynriel up on a pedestal, a sword at his throat. "One more step, and the boy dies."

So tired of the whole situation, Garrett snaps back at the slaver. "You're assuming I want him alive more than I want you dead."

Fenris glares up at the slaver. "Time to die, little man."

Soon, the slavers are all dead. Feynriel shakily stands up and nervously approaches them. "You would have let him kill me! He was his sword at my throat, and—I mean, thank you—but what if you were wrong."

Garrett, though extremely tired of the boy, tries to smile. "I'm never wrong."

"You'll learn not to second guess my brother," Carver adds gruffly.

Feynriel whines about want freedom and hating his mother and dreaming of the Dalish, but in the end, Garrett forces him to return to the Circle, to Fenris's and Carver's relief and Anders's chagrin.

Anders sighs and turns back to Garrett. "So, who's going to tell Mother Dearest? She must be just dying to hear what happened."

* * *

Anders—

Glaring at the back of Hawke's head seems to do nothing as they run further down the Wounded Coast. How could he do that? A mage sending another mage to the Circle. That's worse that a slave having slaves. _He just signed that boy's death sentence, and I…I helped him._

A loud, deep voice calls out to them, giving a warning. Anders sighs. He was getting really tired of strange people trying to get them to do strange things. "Another friend we haven't met?"

Of course, they ignore the warning and keep going on. The mysterious voice finally gains a face when a silver skinned kossith steps out in front of them. He tells them that the Tal-Vashoth are up ahead. When Hawke tells them that they are searching for the Tal-Vashoth, the kossith shrugs it off and leaves. _Charming as always._

The Tal-Vashoth were easy picking for them. The sun's only beginning its descent when they begin to head pack to Kirkwall. A grumpy Hawke announces that they will go talk to the dwarf tomorrow and that he is going home because he needs sleep. For a minute, Anders toys with the idea that he might mean coming back to Darktown with him, but once they get to Kirkwall, Hawke trudges towards Lowtown, Carver on his tail.

Anders begrudgingly heads back to Darktown alone. Although all he wants to do is collapse on his bed and sleep, he knows he needs food. Nourishment is more important than sleep. So he sits by the fire, watching his soup bubble, hating how lonely he feels.

That night, as he lies in his bed, he can't help but feel like the bed is a little bigger, a little colder. It had only been one night, and nothing had even happened. But it was enough to make him realize just how much he wanted Hawke. Waking up next to him…_if only it were like that every day._

He had to feel it. Hawke _had_ to feel the connection between them. So, maybe they didn't see eye to eye about mages and templars, but, Maker forgive him, he didn't care.

The next morning, he awoke, stiff from his dreams. Anders yawns softly, wondering if Hawke is half as good with his hands as he is in his dreams. _Well, he does swing a stick around all day._

As he cleans himself in a lukewarm bath, he hears some one enter the the front room. Armour clanks as the visitor takes each step. Anders hurriedly hops out of the bath, pulling his robes onto his still-wet body. He was about to fly out the back door when a voice calls out.

"Mag—ah, Anders?"

Deep and gravely, yet soft, as if embarrassed. _It can't be…_

Anders peeps around the corner, his eyes growing wide. "Fenris?!"

The elf scratches at the back of his head nervously. "Ah, hello."

"Something the matter?" he asks, more curious than confused. Fenris would never come visit Anders alone unless something was really wrong.

"It's…about Hawke."

"What's going on?"Anders asks, motioning to a set of small chairs around a dingy table.

Fenris lowers himself into one of the chairs. "You did not notice?"

"Yesterday? Ah, yes, something seemed…off."

The elf slams a clawed hand on the table. "Do not dodge the question any longer, mage! I know you know what happened. What did he tell you?"

Anders raises an eyebrow, feeling his pride swell. "You mean, he didn't come talk to you?"

"No!" Fenris yells. He pauses, inhaling and exhaling, before speaking again, much softer. "No. He has told me nothing."

"Hm, interesting," Anders smugly purrs, unable to keep from smirking.

"Can we just…put this," Fenris pauses, searching for the right word, "…_rivalry _aside. Something is wrong with Hawke."

Anders sighs, knowing the elf is right. "I don't know. I don't know what's wrong."

"You don't…? I thought you said…" Fenris asks, raising a dark eyebrow.

"He came to me," Anders shakes his head, "but he told me nothing."

"And you didn't do anything to upset him?"

"No, not that I know of, at least. Or you?" Anders asks.

"I can think of nothing I have done that would make him act like this," Fenris sighs.

Anders plays with a stray strand of hair, debating telling the elf about that night, but he decides against it. This is the first pleasant conversation they've ever had, and he didn't want to ruin it. "Perhaps, he's just under a lot of stress."

"That's true," the elf muses. He stands, looking at Anders thoughtfully for a moment. "I…thank you, Anders."

"Ah, y-you're welcome," Anders mumbles. "Sorry I couldn't be more helpful."

"I shall not distract you any longer." With that, Fenris turns and walks out of the clinic.

Anders slumps further down in his seat. _So, Fenris doesn't know either._ Somehow, that only makes him more determined to find out.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Carver—

_Why can't anything be cheap?_

Several days had passed after they rescued Feynriel and reported to the Arishok. Carver had been extremely impressed by the Arishok and even more so by Fenris, who apparently knew the Qunari tongue.

Now, they had gotten desperate, scrounging around for work, trying to find any coin they can. Garrett had finally relented and dragged them all to Hightown to try to sell of unneeded goods or beg for a job.

Carver stands in front of the dwarf Kardol's stand, hungrily eying his wares. They're saving ever bit of coin for this damn expedition, but still… _A new blade would be nice._

"Carver," Garrett calls, tearing the younger Hawke's attention away from the stall. "Come look at this."

"What is it now?" he sighs.

Garrett points out a _Help Wanted_ poster stuck to the wall next to a stall. "Apparently, the viscount's son has gone missing."

"I bet they'd pay a pretty penny for his return," Anders muses.

"What do you think, Carv?" Garrett says, turning to look at him. "Worth it?"

"Why are you asking me?" he snorts.

"You're my brother, and this blighted expedition is as much your problem as mine," Garrett retorts, leaving Carver quite speechless.

"Shall we go see this seneschal then?" Fenris asks.

Garrett looks at Carver thoughtfully, and the younger brother glares back, refusing to break eye contact, refusing to lose. Garrett just smirks, a strange glint in his eye and turns to the elf. "Why not?"

Carver glares at the Winters leader as she shoves him into a wall, barking madly. If that is to be their competition, he prays to the Maker that they kick her sorry ass.

Seneschal Bran sighs at their approach, obviously tired of the bounty hunters. Garrett jokingly tries to reassure the man, who does not look fazed. He simply gives them the instructions and tells them to be off. _Stuck up sodding nobility._

Carver hated the Wounded Coast almost as much as he hated Kirkwall. Everything bad and rotten seemed to decide that the safest place to hide was in a cave on the Wounded Coast. _Until the mighty Hawke clears them out._ He mutters grumpily to himself as they make their way down the coast, only stopping when Fenris casts a curious gaze his way.

They cut through a few misfit bands of Tal-Vashoth with ease before finding the missing son. He kneels on the ground next to the body of a dead kossith, screaming something in Qunari at the leader of the Winters. Carver bares his teeth, his fingers itching to grab his blade. _Wait…the viscount's son speaks Qunari?_

The woman raises her hand as if about to strike Saemus, but Garrett quickly steps in between them. "A little rough for a rescue, don't you think?"

"Competition?" she growls, lowering her hand. "Well, you're too late. The Winters—I have all ready claimed him."

"Serah, if I must go back, so be it," Saemus says, turning his attention to Garrett, "but I will not see these _murderers_ rewarded!"

"Spoiled shit!" the woman exclaims, and Garrett once again steps between the two. "I'll cut out your tongue and charge extra for bringing you back quiet!"

She quickly draws out two daggers, turning her attention to Garrett. "And as for you…I could do with some entertainment while we wait for the others."

For a group of mercenaries, they die relatively easily. Saemus steps forward, unharmed albeit a little shaken. "Dead and good riddance. But…she said she was waiting for more. A lot more!"

Carver smirks, his hand resting on his sword. "Well, let them come."

Soon enough, they head back to the Keep, Saemus in tow. He tells them about his friend Ashaad and all the things of the Qun that he had been taught, but everyone else is too ill to appreciate it. It takes all of Carver's self control to not simply knock the man out and carry him home.

Upon returning the boy, Carver grows immensely frustrated with the viscount. Blaming his son because he had foolishly assumed the boy had been kidnapped and then telling Saemus that he can have no contact with the Qunari for his sake. It reminded him of how he'd always been forced to hide because of his siblings' "gift" and expected to actually enjoy it.

"Well, that's just foolish," Garrett says, echoing Carver's own thoughts. "Listen to your boy, he's making sense."

The seneschal sputters and flops about like a beached fish before forcefully pushing them out of the room. He hesitates to give them their coin, but Fenris _ever-so-gently_ reminds them that the bounty was completely, so he reluctantly complies.

Carver flops down onto his pallet back at Gamlen's, inwardly cursing himself for forgetting how thin the blighted thing is. Garrett shuffles into the room, awkwardly holding something behind his back. Carver rolls over, too tired to even ask.

"I have something for you."

Carver peeks open an eye to look up at his brother. "Do you have to give it to me now? I'm tired."

"Oh, don't be such a grump," Garrett teases. "I know you'll like it, and I don't want to wait."

"Fine," Carver sighs, sitting up. "What is—" He cuts himself off when Garrett reveals what's behind his back.

A sword. The blade shines silver, the edges rimmed in gold. The guard is red and silver and richly embellished. Looking at it, he can see tiny words inscribed on it. "Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter," he reads aloud. Hs head snaps up, and he looks at his brother wide-eyed. "Is this…?"

"A templar sword? Indeed," Garrett smiles before sitting on the floor in front of him. "I saw you eying Kardol's Blades earlier and thought you might could use a new one. You have had that old thing since our time with Meeran."

"Where…where did you get this?"

"The Gallows. I…stopped by there on my way back from the Keep."

Carver leans forward, the sword now forgotten in his hands. "You went to Gallows…_alone?_"

"It was worth it, wasn't it?" his brother smiles.

"Garrett, are you crazy? You could've gotten caught! And…and for what? _A sword?!_"

"No, Carver," Garrett says softly. "For you."

Carver drops his head, gazing at the sword again. The thing is about as tall as he is. How Garrett managed to carry it back from the Gallows unnoticed remains a mystery to him.

"Carv?" Garrett calls. "I…don't know blades very well. Is it…sufficient?"

He looks up into his brother's wide brown eyes. "It's more than that, Brother. It's perfect."

Garrett smiles, instantly lighting up. "Good, I'm glad you like it!" He stands and heads over to his own pallet, quickly slipping out of his robes.

Carver smiles to himself and runs his fingers down the length of the blade, a warm feeling spreading through his hands. _Wait…it really is warm._ "Garrett, did you…enchant this?"

"Not me, per se," he replies, kicking off his boots. "Worthy did it for me."

The blade suddenly seems to have tripled in value to Carver. The blade itself had to have been expensive, but enchantment is even more so. _Why would Garrett spend so much on me?_

"Hey, Carv?"

Carver looks up at his brother, suddenly feeling very anxious. The warmth in his fingers travel to his lips and he flashes back to _that night_. Garrett clears his throat and props himself up on one elbow. "About what happened the other night…"

"It…it was an accident. You have a bit too much to drink, right?" Carver offers, absent-mindedly tracing patterns on the blade.

Garrett watches the finger slide across the metal a moment before answering. "Yeah, I don't…I don't know where it came from." He clears his throat again. "We're…okay though, right?"

Carver looks up at his brother, noticing Garrett's Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Of course, Brother. No harm, no foul, right?"

"Good," Garrett sighs, leaning back. "Good. I'm glad."

They sit in silence for a while, Garrett trying to sleep and Carver still fascinated with his new blade. "Garrett?" Carver calls softly, hoping he's still awake.

"Hm?" his brother answers sleepily without moving.

"We're saving up for this expedition, right? So…why buy me this? Meeran's old blade still works."

Garrett rolls onto his back and rests his hands on interlocked fingers. "Carv, the whole expedition's for naught if you die before we even get there."

* * *

Garrett—

The next day, Carver can't stop playing with the sword. He's obviously itching for a fight, but the day moves along slowly. Garrett smiles to himself, seeing his brother so rarely happy and knowing that he caused it. _At least things are looking up for us again._

It's as if last night had cleared all the awkwardness out of the air. The whole drunken fiasco seems to have been forgotten. Even Fenris and Anders seem less moody than usual.

At least until Garrett announced his plan to go to the Chantry. Anders gets all worked up and openly rejects the idea, still a bit sour about Karl's death. Garrett explains that it's just for a moment, they need to return something, check the Chanter's board for paying jobs and then they can leave. That seems to appease Anders a little, but he still pouts all the way through Hightown.

It should have been a simple little visit, but Garrett hadn't counted on a royal visit.

Sebastian Vael. Yelling something in his deep brogue about his family being murdered. Of course, that promises future profit, but that's not what catches Garrett's eye.

The man is a natural born marksman. He shoots a leaf of paper out of the Grand Cleric's hand and attaches it firmly to the Chanter's board before storming off.

Of course, when they enter the Chantry, the Grand Cleric recognizes them and immediately apologizes. The Grand Cleric condemns Sebastian's need for revenge but says nothing further on the matter.

"So," Carver pops in, his obvious itch to fight only growing stronger, "are we going to help this prince?"

"Oh, definitely," Garrett purrs as they head towards the Chanter's board. He tears off the paper, studying the flowing script. "The Flint mercenary company. Guess that's our target."

Finding the Flint mercenaries proves to be more difficult than he expected. They scrounge around Lowtown, the Hanged Man, Darktown for a full day before gathering any information on the mercenaries. The nearest group, hiding at the docks.

They were not expecting an assault and, thankfully, die rather easily. "So, do we know where any more of them are?" Anders asks, toeing at the corpse of a mercenary.

"The best information we could pick up said that they've all ready left Kirkwall," Garrett answers. He kneels down and searches a couple of the corpses to see if any of them had any worthwhile information on them. They don't.

"Probably on the Wounded Coast," Carver mutters.

"Perhaps we can ask the Dalish," Fenris offers. "They seem to know the goings-on outside the city."

"Good idea, Fenris," Garrett muses. "Perhaps we shall. I need to speak to Marethari anyway,"

Turns out, they don't even have to ask the Dalish. A band of the mercenaries camps outside the Dalish camp and tries to sneak attack Garrett and his companions. "Well, let's go see if the Keeper knows where any more are."

"_Andaran atish'an_," the Keeper greets them as they approach. "Welcome back. Is there something else you need?"

Garrett greets the elder elven woman charmingly. "We were tasked with hunting down some mercenaries. Some of them were camped outside of your camp. We were wondering if your scouts had maybe seen anymore?"

She nods slowly. "Yes, the hunters had noticed shemlens around the area behaving strangely. They were chased off the mountain."

"Do you have any idea where they went?"

The Keeper thinks for a moment. "If they have not returned to your city, perhaps they have hidden on the beaches at the foot of the mountain."

"The Wounded Coast," Carver glumly concludes.

"I guess we'll go there then," Garrett smirks.

"May I ask of Merrill?" the Keeper interjects quickly.

"She's doing…well," Garrett replies softly. "She is getting accustomed to living in the city. And she has all of us for support."

"_Ma serannes, el'falon._ I worry about her there. She is a…peculiar girl."

"We'll take care of her, Keeper."

The older woman nods her thanks again. "Remember, you and Merrill are always welcome here. _Dareth shiral._ May the Dread Wolf never find your path."

To Carver's dismay, the Keeper is right. They head down to the Wounded Coast and spend an hour searching the sands for the mercenaries. These ones had recently ransacked a caravan and stupidly left their guards down, letting Garrett and his companions make quick work of them.

They head back to the Chantry to report to the prince. "So, will anyone smite me if I tell you I killed the men who wronged your family?"

"Excuse me, who are—?" he starts, his accent rolling. He shakes his head, realizing that question need not be answered. "Wait, my post to the Chanter's Board? Did Her Grace let that stay? I'd thought for sure no one even read… But you say you've killed them?"

The prince eagerly grasps Garrett's arm and heartily shakes it. "You have my eternal gratitude, serah! It is comforting to think my parents might rest easy in their graves."

Garrett and the prince discuss the details of the story for a couple minutes, speculating about what happened and who might've done it like old friends. "Your parents probably don't care much at this point, but I hope you sleep a bit easier."

The prince laughs good-naturedly. "Yes, I hope I will. Thank you." He reaches into his pocket for a pouch and tosses it to Garrett. "Consider this an advance. When I have secured my lands again, you will be paid royally.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," the prince says as he gracefully bows, "I must meet with the viscount and petition him for aid to a fellow city."

Carver peeks inside the cloth bag in Garrett's hand. "Andraste's flaming ass! This is almost enough to get us into the Deep Roads."

"We're getting there, Brother," Garrett smiles. "Slowly, but surely."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Anders—

_Why do I even bother? I'm terrible at cards. And she always cheats._

The mage sighs as Isabela lies down _yet another_ winning hand of Wicked Grace. The busty pirate giggles before scooping up his coin. "Another hand, Anders?"

"I'll pass," he huffs. "Haven't got any money left to gamble anyway."

"Well, we could always play strip Wicked Grace?" she offers saucily.

"Please don't," Fenris deadpans.

Hawke grins at the other mage over his ale. "You know, you'd have more coin to gamble away if you'd gotten here earlier."

"Even I got here before you," Merrill smiles cheerfully, running a finger around the rim of her cup. She doesn't ever drink, but for the first time, she didn't have to buy the first round and proudly accepted her drink.

Anders glares at Hawke. "You know, you should try living off the non-existent salary of a volunteer healer. See how many rounds you can buy your friends then."

"If you got here earlier, you wouldn't have had to buy the first round, Blondie," Varric points out.

"Yeah, yeah," Anders mutters, draining the last of his drink. He looks pointedly at Merrill who smiles softly and hands him her drink.

Isabela suddenly slams her palm down on the table, whirling to face Hawke. "So, I hear you met a prince?"

Hawke raises an eyebrow curiously. "We did. He was very charming."

"And?"

"And…?"

"And you didn't invite me!" she cries. "A royal prince! And you didn't invite me."

"Did I mention he's a Chantry brother?" Hawke smiles at the pirate.

"So, he's religious. I could deal with that," she pouts.

He leans forward, clearly enjoying this. "That means he's taken a vow of chastity."

"Oh," Isabela murmurs, suddenly deflating. "Oh. Well, then you're forgiven." She eyes him out of her periphery for a moment before snatching his drink and draining it in one gulp.

"Feeling better now?" he teases.

"A little disappointed, but nothing I can't handle," she admits, peering into the bottom of the glass.

Anders notices that Hawke and Fenris, although sitting next to each other, aren't even touching. In fact, they had barely said a word to each other since they'd arrived. _Perhaps Hawke is finally coming to his senses._

Carver rejoins the others, a tray of ales in his hands. "Refill anyone?" Isabela dashes forward, snatching up two of the drinks and sliding back in her seat before anyone else moves. Carver frowns down at her. "One drink a piece."

"One for me, one for Kitten," she says, lifting each glass. "And, thank you, Pup."

"Little Hawke, I love you more and more each day," Varric grins, taking his drink off the tray.

"Don't call—nevermind…" Carver grumbles. He passes out the rest of the drinks and takes his seat in between Isabela and Hawke.

"So, what spurred this, Pup?" Isabela asks, scooting towards Carver.

He leans away, scooting towards Hawke. He probably doesn't realize it but trying to avoid Isabela like that only makes her want you more. Anders had to deal with that problem before he'd told her of his intentions towards Hawke. "I don't know. I just…feel generous all the sudden."

Only Anders catches the brief look Carver casts at his brother and how Hawke's face turns pink at that.

"That's very uncharacteristic of you," Varric comments. "You feeling okay, Juniour?"

"Never better, dwarf."

"Hawke, I think your brother's sick. He's almost cheerful."

Isabela scoots back her chair a bit. "I don't know what it is, but it's making _me _sick."

"Is that all it takes?" Carver says, observing the pirate thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should act like this more often."

"Don't get carried away now, Carv," Hawke teases. "Everyone knows I'm the cheerful sibling." Carver snorts, struggling not to choke on his ale. Hawke deadpans, glaring at his brother. "That wasn't a joke."

Soon enough, the whole table is laughing and no one has any idea why. Perhaps too much ale or too much tension lately. Either way, they all cut up and blow off steam, drinking and laughing for hours. At points, they even get so loud that Norah has to come back and shush them, making everyone attempt to giggle quietly.

Anders is the first to leave as usual. Or tries to, anyway. He's so delirious from the drinks and giddiness he can hardly walk. Hawke stands slowly. Somehow, it seemed that he'd had the least to drink, not counting Merrill. Probably because Isabella kept stealing his drinks as "punishment." Anders wobbles in place and Hawke reaches out to grab his arm. "I'll walk you home, Anders."

Anders half expects Fenris to start something at his offer, but, apparently, the elf drank too much as well.

Once they get outside, the cool night air helps to calm Anders down a bit. Everything's a little fuzzy still, but no worse than usual. "Hey, Hawke? You don't have to walk me home, you know."

"I know, but I offered, and I will."

The walk in silence for another few minutes. "Hey, Hawke?"

"Yes, Anders?" the other mage replies.

"Are you and Fenris…?"

Hawke sighs. "I don't know…"

He looks up at him shyly. "And you and me?"

"Anders…" Hawke breathes.

Anders slides to a stop, grabbing Hawke arm and whirling him to face him. Hawke's wide brown eyes seem to glow in the moonlight. _Maker, but he's beautiful._ "Anders?" Hawke calls, snapping Anders out of his distraction.

"How?" Anders whispers, taking a step towards the other mage. "That morning when we woke up next to each other. Don't tell me that didn't feel right. You know it did. You had to have felt it too."

"Anders…" he repeats.

"Andraste's ass, Hawke!" Anders cries. "Why can't you see it? I…I… " The words are on the tip of his tongue, begging to be released, but for some reason he can't bring himself to say them.

Hawke turns to look away, mumbling softly. "It's not that simple, Anders."

"Yes, it is! It can be." Anders turns Hawke's head to face him. "You and me. Together. What's so complicated about that?"

"I…I can't," Hawke sighs.

Anders groans, stepping back. "You must really have it bad for that elf, huh?"

Hawke turns to face him, eyes wide. "Elf?"

"Fenris?" Anders offers, an eyebrow raising in surprise. _Maybe it's not Fenris then…_

"Look, Anders, I'm sorry, but it can't happen," Hawke says sharply.

They walk in silence the rest of the way back to the clinic. That entire night, Anders lies awake, hating himself for ruining the only good thing he almost had.

* * *

Carver—

The previous night, after Garrett had left with Anders, Carver had walked Merrill home again. She was happy and chipper, but for some reason he just wasn't in the mood for her antics any more. As soon as he'd gotten back to Gamlen's he collapsed on his pallet, though he didn't sleep until Garrett got back.

Morning comes far too quickly. Carver can hardly bring himself to get up when Garrett tries to rouse him. "Drink too much last night?" the elder brother teases.

"Me? You drank more than I did," Carver groans as he sits up.

"Ah, but I can hold my liquor." Carver snorts. He quickly stands and dresses, strapping the new sword to back after running his fingers up in lovingly. "Here." Carver barely manages to catch the biscuit Garrett tosses at his head. "We're eating on the way to pick up Fenris."

"Garrett, why don't we ever go anywhere with anyone other than Anders and Fenris?" he asks before taking a bite of the hard biscuit.

Garrett just shrugs. "If something works, why change it?"

"Good point," Carver nods.

Fenris is all ready waiting outside by the time they reach his mansion. "Maker, Fenris," Carver grumbles, "do you ever sleep?"

"No."

"Well, what do you do in that big house all day then?" Carver scoffs.

Fenris looks over, a smile turning up the corner of his lip. "Why, dance, of course."

Carver raises a dark eyebrow. "You are strange, strange elf."

"Thank you."

When they get to Darktown, Garrett goes inside to talk to Anders alone, leaving Fenris and Carver together. Carver toes the ground nervously, a question dancing on the tip of his tongue.

"What is it, Carver?" Fenris asks, reading into his movement.

Carver sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair. "Say," he starts, pausing to nervously wet his lips. "Say that someone close to you does something to you that you didn't think you'd be comfortable with, and maybe it confused you on how you felt about it. How would you react?"

"How very vague," Fenris smirks. "What exactly did Isabela do to you?"

_Isabela?_ Carver brushes it off. Better to let him think it was her than tell him who it really was. "Ah, well, uhm…"

"You can't take everything she does seriously. She acts on whims."

"Hypothetically," he blurts out. "What would you do?"

Fenris pauses, leaning against the wall of Anders's clinic. "Honestly? I do not know. I suppose it would depend on how much you care for this person and how severe whatever they did to you was. And how you felt about it."

"Thanks," Carver sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose, "that cleared up nothing."

The elf merely shrugs. "I am not your brother. I cannot solve everyone else's problems, much less my own."

"And thank the Maker for that."

They traipses around Kirkwall for a few hours, finishing up jobs and collecting the coin. Sometime in the later afternoon, Anders excuses himself, saying he needs to go back to clinic to work. Having nothing else to do, the rest split up and head home for the night.

"You're back early," Leandra comments as they walk through the front door.

"Today was a light day," Garrett murmurs as he lowers himself into one of the chairs. "I'm sure tomorrow will prove to be much more difficult."

Carver takes another chair and sighs. "Great. I was hoping things could stay like this for awhile."

"Not until we get enough for that expedition. Then we'll have all the coin we need and we can lounge around all day."

"Remembering how great we once were," Carver adds. He pulls out a rag and oils, lovingly cleaning his sword.

"Maker, Carver, you clean that thing every day," Leandra says as she places bowls of watered down broth in front of each of them.

"It's…important to me," he says softly, casting a glance at his brother who feigns interest in one of the knots in the table.

"It is beautiful," she agrees, "but put it away. It's supper time."

"Yes, Mother," he sighs, glaring at Garrett's stupid little grin.

After dinner, Gamlen and Leandra go for a night time walk, leaving Carver and Garrett alone. Carver warms himself by the fire, tensing when he hears Garrett approach. "Here, I got you something."

"Again?" Carver grunts as he turns around. "The sword is enough for me, Brother."

"Oh, don't get all humble now. It's just something I thought you might like," Garrett says, holding out his hand again.

"Well…what is it?"

Garrett groans. "Will you just take them? I didn't go to the Gallows for nothing."

"You what?" Carver cries. He reaches out, grabs his brother by the shoulder, and pulls him close until their faces are mere inches apart. "I warned you, Garrett. I told you not to go there alone!"

"I-I know, but…" Garrett stammers, his brown eyes wide.

"_But nothing_! Maker's breath, Garrett, can you not see how stupid, how dangerous, how reckless that is?"

Garrett's eyes fall downwards. "You know I can take care of myself, Carv."

"You shouldn't have to," the younger Hawke replies tersely. "Nothing is worth risking that."

Garrett's face tinges pink, and he bites his bottom lip. "You are."

Carver stares deeply into his brother's eyes, trying to stay his anger. After exhaling a long breath, he holds out his other hand. Garrett flashes him an uneasy smile and places the papers in his hand. Carver releases his grip on his brother's shoulder and steps back.

"These are…by Father?" Carver asks, looking up at his brother. "Are you sure these aren't meant for you?" Garrett simply shakes his head, hardly able to contain his smile, and motions for Carver to read aloud.

"'For your service that cannot be admitted, I ask that you accept this trinket and know that I shall respect your name. Thank you, conscious of the order, Ser Maurevar Carver.'" His head snaps up, ocean blue eyes wide. "_Carver_?"

"The templar who allowed Father to leave Kirkwall to be with Mother. Your namesake," Garrett nods.

Carver seems to be struggling to process it all. "A templar? Have we met a templar who isn't a colossal prig?"

Garrett smirks, his eyes gleaming with mirth. "Well, there you go then."

"I wonder how it compares to yours," Carver prods, a soft smile spreading across his face as he leans back to recline against the mantle.

"I'm sure someone thought far too long about my name," Garrett sighs, shaking his head. "But you're missing the point. This man—the man Father named you after—was a swordsman."

Carver glances back down at the papers, reading further. "A man who let him look ahead. It would always mean 'skill thoughtfully applied.'"

"And that, dear Brother, is why the name suits you."

"Father actually thought there was worth to a swordsman," Carver mumbles into the fire.

Garrett steps forward, resting an arm on Carver's shoulder. "Father appreciated his swordplay, just like I appreciate yours."

Carver swallows the rising lump in his throat. "Thank you, Brother. That—all this—means a lot to me."

Garrett beams at his brother, the warmth reaching his deep brown eyes. Carver turns back to the fire, resting his head against the mantle. He stays silent until he hears Garrett walk away. "Brother, you are not making this any easier…"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Fenris—

_The amount of mages we rescue is astounding._

He had disliked the templar Thrask from the moment they had met. He never understood why until the found the letter incriminating him of hiding his apostate daughter.

And now, he stands outside a cave on the Wounded Coast, asking them to be gentle with a group of escaped mages.

As soon as they enter the cave, they are attacked by a blood mage, raising the bones of long dead warriors. "They've raised the bloody dead," the abomination gasps after they kill all their attackers. "They must be truly desperate."

"Mages will always resort to the forbidden if they feel enough need," Fenris growls.

The apostate ignores the elf and turns to their leader. "Please tell me we're not going to send these poor souls back to the Circle." His pleas fall on deaf ears, though, because they all known what Hawke will choose.

"Help!" a shrill voice calls out. "Help me!" A panic-stricken mage runs into view, cowering from a legion of undead.

Soon enough, the skeletons are reduced to a pile of bones. The apostate—Alain—tells them about their leader Decimus and how he had turned to blood magic.

Fenris tightens his grip on his sword. "Malificars. He has been exposed to blood magic. You know what we must do, Hawke."

Alain falls to his knees, pathetically begging for his life. The abomination steps forward, that foreboding blue light beginning to emanate from him. "Send him to the Circle if you must, but I will not allow you to kill him."

"He is a known associate of a blood mage and may even be on himself!" Fenris hisses. "If sent back to the Circle, he will be killed or made Tranquil. Kill him now and make it easier for everyone."

"_No_!" the abomination shrieks, another wave of blue light radiating from him.

"Calm yourself, Anders!" Hawke snaps. The abomination manages to leash himself, sulking silently. Hawke then turns his attention to Alain. "There is a templar waiting out by the entrance. Go to him."

The malificar runs off, barely managing to stammer out a thank you. Hawke turns back to the abomination and sighs. "Anders…"

"We all ready talked about this, Hawke," he says tensely. "I'll try." Carver and Fenris exchange a quick confused look but follow Hawke further into the cavern wordlessly.

They enter the largest part of the cabin just in time to see Decimus using his power over the other mages. He whirls towards them, silencing his spell. "They're here! The templars have come to take us back to the Circle!"

A pretty little thing—_for a mage_—reaches out to him. "Decimus, no! Stay your hand. These are no templars."

Decimus steps forward, arrogantly twirling his staff in his hand. "What do I care what shield they carry? If they challenge us…the dead themselves will meet the call!" He slits his wrist, blood rising up from his body, combining with his curse. A loud rattling noise echoes behind them, and they all turns to see an army of skeletons lifting themselves up from the ground.

The malificar calls forth all manners of undead, but soon, he is vanquished, the red liquid used to power his spells now draining from his body. The pretty mage runs over. "Oh, Decimus! No! Decimus, my Decimus…you should have listened to me, love."

She shakes her head, channeling her grief into rage directed at Hawke. "I saw what you are! How could you murder on of your own just for daring to defy the templars?"

Hawke crosses his arms, a smirk spreading across his lips. "You think he brought those skeletons to life to serve me tea?"

"I warned him," she murmurs, ignoring Hawke's little joke. "I told him, once he marked himself as a blood mage, that was all anyone would see."

Fenris glances at her skeptically. "Are we supposed to believe that you had no part in his actions?"

She bows her head. "I swear to you, I have had no truck with demons. Please…we only want our freedom. Without your help, the templars will execute us all for Decimus's crimes."

"You followed him," Hawke points out, "knowing that he was a malificar. You should all face punishment."

She takes a step towards him threateningly. "If you try to turn us in, do not think your own talents will go unremarked."

Fenris bristles at her advance. Before he can step forward, though, Carver slides in front of her, poised to attack. "No one threatens my brother."

She looks at him, fear ruling her delicate features. The abomination clears his throat nervously. "Threatening to turn us in doesn't really help your 'all mages stick together' image."

Carver does not take his eyes off the woman. "These are blood mages, not like you or Bethany. And what do you think happens if we start killing templars?"

"Don't worry, Carver. These malificars will get the punishment they deserve." Hawke lays a reassuring hand on Carver's shoulder, and the younger brother finally relaxes.

"Then lay down your arms," the woman says, eyeing Carver nervously. "I am trying to save our lives, not throw them away. We will come with you."

They leave the cavern together, the apostates following closely behind. As they exit the cave, they see Ser Thrask desperately trying to convince another templar that the apostates are all ready gone. They only stop arguing when Hawke steps forward and clears his throat loudly.

"And what do we have here?" the other templar—Kerras—sneers. Garrett tries to deflect the question with humour, but the templar completely ignores him. "Who is this, Thrask? Now you require mercenaries to carry out your duties?"

"He returned the mage Feynriel to the Circle. I thought he might recover these mages peacefully," Thrask admits.

"Well, much obliged," Kerras quips, feigning a sarcastic bow. "Now, let's take these demon worshippers to the chopping block. Knight-Commander wants them executed before Orsino hears about it."

"No!" the pretty mage exclaims. "And you wonder why we fear them? Please, you must protect us!"

Hawke ignores the woman's pleas. "Do what you must."

"The Circle is a sanctuary, not a prison!" Thrask interjects. "If you kill these people, I will see you disciplined by the Divine herself!"

"Knight-Commander says no rebel robes get to preach to the tame ones," Kerras growls.

The two templars leave with the mages in tow, still arguing. Fenris inhales a sharp breath and follows Hawke back to Kirkwall, smirking at the sulking abomination.

* * *

Anders—

He doesn't even know why he's surprised. Every time they've encountered a decision between the mages and templars, Hawke _always_ sides with the templars, even if he himself is a mage.

That's why it surprises him when Hawke shows up at the clinic one morning without either of his templar-wanna-be buddies. "Ah, everything all right, Hawke?"

"Sit down, Anders," he replies, completely devoid of humour for once.

Although panicking on the inside, Anders obeys and sits on one of the small wooden stools. "What's going on?"

"We need to talk," Hawke says simply.

"About?"

"You."

"Have you finally changed your mind?" Anders asks, leaning forward.

"No, Anders," Hawke snaps. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "About Justice…"

Anders groans and flops into a chair. "All right, lay it on me."

"He's come out three times in the last month," Hawke points out.

"I know."

"Each time is worse than the one before."

"I know."

"We can't—"

"_I know!_" Anders yells. "I know, I know, I know!" He sighs, running his fingers through his hair, the messy ponytail coming undone. "But I don't know how to control him."

Hawke sighs, laying his hand on the other mage's shoulder. "Be careful, Anders. Don't make me worry so."

Anders looks up at him, a deep sadness pooling in his eyes. "I did this…my anger did this to him."

"Listen," Hawke starts, "I need you to be careful. I don't want you hurt." Anders stammers something unintelligible and looks down, face flushing. "I'd lock you up to keep you safe."

"No one's locking me up," Anders smirks, "not even you, sweetheart."

Hawke waggles his eyebrow. "Now you're just tempting me to try."

Anders laughs, shaking his head. He pulls his hair back into its normal ponytail and stands. "Well, shall we head out? I'm sure you've got something planned."

They walk outside the clinic, and Anders notices Carver and Fenris standing outside. _So, he did bring them._ Carver clears his throat, exchanging a look with Fenris. "So, who's this guy of Isabela's we're helping?"

Anders groans. "I really hate the people Isabela wants me to meet and treat."

"This one is apparently a merchant," Hawke chuckles. "I all ready talked to him. He wants us to go find his lost cargo."

They travel to the docks to speak to the longshoremen who, as usual, don't know anything and send them running to talk to someone else. The harbour master brushes them off and has them talk to his sniveling assistant. Hawke casually pays off the man to get the information.

A patrol of men guard the warehouse. Simpletons, as all hired hands. Hawke manages to trick them into running off saving them much time and the guards' lives. Of course, the warehouse itself is full of raiders. Soon, they're but corpses, leaving the goods for the taking.

Hawke opens the crate and a strangely familiar scent tickles Anders nose. His eyes widen as he realizes what it is. "I wouldn't breathe that in if I were you. Looks like Martin's trading in death."

"Of course, he's dealing poisons," Hawke sighs. "Why can't we ever meet nice people who sell flowers or something?"

Fenris raises a dark eyebrow. "Why would raiders steal flowers?"

"Point taken."

Martin smiles up at them as they walk back into his room at the Hanged Man. Hawke crosses his arms and glares at the other man. "Guess what I found? Crates filled with enough poison to assassinate every noble in Orlais and then some."

The man sighs, rubbing at his nose with his hand. "Look, I should've told you not to look in the crates. There's nothing shady going on here. I got the stuff from a legitimate supplier, and I'm going to sell it through legitimate channels. It's all legitimate!"

"It's poison," Hawke says bluntly. "It kills people."

"Evidently, so do you," Martin scoffs.

Hawke chuckles. "Oh, you've got me there."

Martin clears his throat. "So, where are my goods?"

"I guess everyone deserves a second chance," Hawke shrugs before telling him where to find the poisons.

As they walk back into the main room, Isabela waves them over to the bar. "Martin just stopped by before he left. Said you were a big help."

"I do what I can," Hawke smiles.

Isabela fiddles with the cup in her hand and sighs softly. "Yes, well, thank you, Hawke. Martin is a good man. I'm glad he was able to leave the raiders. Very few ever get the chance."

They stand in silence for a moment, Isabela awkwardly refusing to make eye contact. Hawke lays his hand on her cup, pushing it away from her face. "Penny for your thoughts?"

She smirks up at him. "My thoughts aren't even worth that, Hawke. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try to get Corff's attention again."

"Hmm," Carver muses aloud as they walk outside, "so she does have a heart."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Carver—

_Maker, where is he taking me?_

Garrett and Carver trudge up Sundermount. Carver shivers as they walk higher, wishing that his tunic covered a bit more. He casts a jealous glare at his brother, who looks mighty comfortable in his blighted fur-lined robe. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to find those supplies for that herbalist Sol," Garrett explains. "I got a ip that one of them would be up here."

Carver raises an eyebrows. "And why is it just the two of us?"

Garrett inhales sharply. "Anders is busy at his clinic, Fenris caught a cold, Merrill's preoccupied with ridding her house of rats _again_, Aveline's training with the guard, Varric's meeting with Bartrand, and Isabela's a bit—_ahem_—indisposed at the moment," he exhales, flashing a look in Carver's direction. "Besides, I like spending time with you. Is that so bad?"

"N-No," Carver stammers. "I do too."

"Wow," Garrett laughs. "Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Never thought I'd say it either," the warrior grins.

A crisp wind blows past them. Carver shivers, feeling chill bumps forming on his bare arms. Garrett grabs Carver's arm, pulling his younger brother behind him to shield him from the wind. Carver stammers out a thanks, and they continue walking.

Soon enough, they enter the Dalish camp. The hunters, used to their presence, glare at them with less severity than usual. Garrett leads them over to Master Ilen, the crafter for the clan.

"You're back," the elf nods. When they had first come to Sundermount by that witch's request, he'd been the only friendly one besides the Keeper. Carver had decided he liked him then. "Is there something you need?"

"Do you have any pure ironbark?" Garrett asks.

The crafter scoffs. "What use is ironbark to you? I have never met a shem who could bend it to his will."

"It's for an herbalist apparently," Carver explains.

Master Ilen relaxes, seemingly okay with that. "Either way, I'm out of stock. I do know where it can be found, but it's impossible to retrieve. Our people were forbidden from venturing to the area after we lost two of our best hunters there."

"Perfect," Garrett grins, "I've made a career of doing the impossible."

"Aye, I suppose that's true enough," the crafter admits. "You did meet Asha'bellanar and live. But the place is overrun with darkspawn. We cannot risk losing the few remaining hunters we have left."

"Perhaps I can help?" Garrett offers.

Master Ilen shrugs. "I'll show you where the area is. What you do with that information is up to you."

They thank Master Ilen and leave the camp, heading down the mountain. Carver grimaces as the pass through the Wounded Coast. _I don't even know why I hate this place so much. Something in the air, perhaps…_

After awhile, they reach the area on the map. Darkspawn seeming pop of our the sand, attacking from all angles. Carver grits his teeth at the sheer number of them. They each take a group and hack away, slowly lowering the enemies forces. "You know, this would be a lot easier if it weren't just the two of us," he yells as he slashes at a hurlock.

"Oh, forgive me for allowing our friends' to have lives!" Garrett yells back.

A familiar rumbling shakes the ground. "Oh shit!" Carver exclaims. "Ogre!" The warrior hacks at the beast wildly, while Garrett stays back, blasting the creature with his spells. Once the ogre starts writhing in horror in reaction to one of Garrett's spells, Carver jumps up onto the monster's chest, sinking his sword deep into its neck.

The ogre tumbles backwards, and Carver hops off the dead carcass, panting heavily. Garrett rejoins him, trying to catch his own breath. "We…we make a pretty good team."

Carver chuckles. "That we do, Brother. Now, where's that ironbark?"

"Ah, here it is," Garrett says, kneeling next to a fallen tree. "Now, shall we head back to Kirkwall?"

As soon as he says that, the clouds break open, and rain pours down. They try to run down the mountain, but soon realize they won't be going anywhere. "I can't see a blighted thing!" Carver yells, grabbing onto his brother's arm.

They stumble around the sand for a few more minutes before Garrett points something out. "Look, a cave entrance!" They dash through the opening and out of the rain.

Carver pants, looking back outside. "By the Maker!"

"Well, I think we're going to be stuck here awhile," Garrett sighs. He turns, looking further into the cave. "Shall we see what's further on?"

"Why not? Got nothing better to do," Carver shrugs.

They walk side by side, peering around in the dim light. The passage empties into a large room, seemingly a dead end. Garrett points over to some dry brush growing along the wall. "Are those plants over there? We could build a fire to dry off."

"Good idea," Carver nods. "I'll get on that." He uproots a couple of the plants out of the ground, breaking them into small pieces and placing them in a pile. "Do you have any flint?"

Garrett smirks, raising a delicate eyebrow. "Ah, Carver? Forgetting something?" With a snap of his wrist, he fires a small bolt of flame, the brush sparkling quickly.

"Oh," Carver sighs, ears flushing. "Show off."

"I may not fight with fire, but I still know how to use it."

"Yeah, yeah," the warrior huffs. "We should get out of our wet clothes." Carver peels off his tunic and trousers, the wet fabric clinging to his skin. He shivers, now standing only in his smallclothes, and throws the wet clothing over a rock before taking a seat by the firs. He holds his blade in his lap and runs his fingers down the blade, the enchantment warming him even more.

Garrett sits on the opposite side of the fire, his own robe drying on some rock. "Well, this is just peachy."

Carver laughs, flashing a grin up at his brother. The firelight flashes in Garrett's eyes, making the brown orbs glow hazily. The mage leans back on his hands, the water on his fit chest reflecting the light. Carver clears his throat nervously and looks back down at his sword.

"So, how's that sword working out for you?" Garrett asks. "You seem to be doing well enough."

"Oh, Brother," Carver says, smiling down at the blade, "It's perfect. The balance is beautiful, the metal is strong, and the enchantment is amazing. I…I can't thank you enough."

Garrett smiles softly. "There's no need to thank me, Carver."

Carver jumps up, placing the sword on the ground beside him. "That reminds me…" He crosses over to his still wet clothing and fishes through his pocket. He rejoins Garrett at the fire and holds his fist out. "This is for you."

"No, you don't need to give me to anything—" Garrett starts.

"Yes, I do, Garrett."

"But, I—"

Carver groans. "Maker, will you just take it? My arm's getting tired."

Garrett chuckles, finally relenting. "You are so nice," he teases as he holds his hand out and Carver drops something in it. Garrett pulls his hand back, examining the small piece of metal. "What is it?"

"I found it when we were cleaning out the old Amell mansion."

The mage examines the amulet in his hand, turning the silver piece around. He runs a thumb down the red crest emblazoned on it. "Is this the Amell crest?"

Carver nods. "I showed it to Gamlen. He said it is the Amell crest, but it wasn't Mother's. It was Father's."

Garrett raises an eyebrow. "Why would Father have an Amell amulet?"

"Gamlen said that Grandmother had given it to Mother as an eighteenth birthday present," Carver explains. "When Mother fell in love with Father, she gave it to him as a token of affection."

"Wow…" Garrett muses. "I…thank you."

Carver waves it off, smiling softly. "I just thought that once we come back from the expedition, we'll have a use for the crest again."

Garrett removes the amulet he wears and sets it aside. He slips the Amell amulet around his neck, running a finger down the crest again. The amulet falls against his bare chest, glinting attractively in the firelight.

…_Attractively? I didn't just...no. That's wrong. I couldn't have just thought…_

"Ah, Carver?" Garrett calls, raising a curious eyebrow. "Yoohoo? Anybody there?"

"What?" Carver snaps, still confused.

Both of Garrett's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Ah, did something…happen?"

"No, no," Carver shakes his head. "Sorry."

They sit in silence for a long while, trying their best to dry off and warm up. Garrett stands and lays a hand on his robe. "Mostly dry. Shall we go see if it's stopped raining yet?"

* * *

Garrett—

He presses the pad of his thumb into the crest, toying with the amulet. Ever since Carver had given it to him, he'd hardly been able to stop touching it. He rolls over onto his side, the blankets on his pallet scratching against his bare chest. _I wonder why he gave it to me?_

It was true that Garrett had been the one to start this little gift exchange, but he'd never imagined Carver would give him anything in return. It was very unlike him. Perhaps, he thought of the gifts he'd received as a debt. Carver had always hated letting Garrett have the upper hand.

_Or maybe he felt like being generous again? He did buy us all a round last week._ Garrett shakes his head, rolling back onto his back. Carver had always been a little hard to understand, but as of lately, any attempt to understand his brother had left him utterly confused.

He closes his eyes and lets the amulet fall to his chest. Still and silent like that, the only thing he can hear is Carver's relaxed breathing. The sound is enough to fill him with comfort. The warrior moans in his sleep, rolling around on his pallet. He begins to talk in his sleep. It's unintelligible, albeit entertaining to the elder Hawke. Garrett listens for a couple minutes, unable to make out a single word. Except for one.

"Garrett."

He starts at that, the single word shocking him fully awake. When Carver had murmured his name, he sounded almost…desiring. It was the utterance of a spouse or lover, but certainly not one of a brother.

Rolling over on his side yet again, he found his fingers reaching towards the amulet. He thought back to how Carver had looked when he'd gotten the amulet, how flustered her acted, how adorably pink his cheeks turned. _Perhaps? Perhaps…_

Carver stops mumbling, setting into a soft, rhythmic breathing pattern. Garrett tries to match his brother's breaths to lull himself to sleep, but it is to no avail. He's fully awake. Sighing, Garrett quietly pushes himself up, slipping on a large tunic and shoving his feet into a pair of boots.

Quietly, he shuts the door behind him, looking up at the bright full moon. He deeply breathes in the crisp night air, letting the coldness of it fill his lungs. Garrett just stands there for a couple minutes when he hears something beside the house. Humming.

Cautiously, he rounds the corner, shocked to see who sits there, a bottle of booze in his hands. "Gamlen?"

The older man stops mid-hum and turns to glare at him. "What're you doing out here?"

"Couldn't sleep. You either?" Garrett retorts. At Gamlen's shake of the head, Garrett motions to the ground next to him. "May I?"

Gamlen waves a hand grumpily. "Be my guest."

Garrett lowers himself next to his uncle. He reclines his head back against the house and looks back up at the moon. After a couple minutes of suspiciously eying his nephew, Gamlen offers the bottle. Shrugging, Garrett takes it and tips back a large gulp. "That's…actually good. Much better than the swill they serve at the Hanged Man."

Gamlen snorts loudly. "Not much of a compliment. What the Hanged Man serves is shit."

"You still drink it though," Garrett points out with a grin.

"As do you," his uncle retorts. He takes a sip from his bottle before continuing. "Guess we just might be related after all." He offers the bottle to Garrett who gladly takes another mouthful.

They sit in silence, passing the bottle back and forth until it's empty. Gamlen eyes the bottle distastefully and tosses it onto the street below. "Remind me not to offer you my booze anymore. You drink as well as I do."

Garrett shrugs playful. "What can I say? Guess we are related." Gamlen snorts again but says nothing else. Looking down onto the street, Garrett notices half a dozen of Gamlen's broken bottles littering the ground. "Do you come out here every night?"

"Not every night, no," Gamlen sighs. "Just I when I think about…ah, nevermind."

The sadness etched in Gamlen's face is unmistakeable. "Did you ever have your own family, Uncle?"

"Almost. Ruined that too," admits Gamlen, the alcohol obviously loosening his tongue. Gamlen rarely speaks about his personal life and when he does it's all griping. "You're well over age to have one. Why don't you?"

"I never could find the right man," Garrett lies.

Gamlen nods, looking as if he's struggling to stay awake. "Right, forgot about that. Too bad. You'd be a swell father."

The mage whirls to face the inebriated man with a start. "Was that…a compliment?"

"Just say thank you," Gamlen growls. "Maker knows it won't happen again."

Garrett smiles softly. "Fair point. Thank you, Uncle. I…think you would have too."

"If only, Garrett. If only."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Fenris—

_Why can't we ever meet anyone normal? Or at least someone without blighted magic?_

The elf grumbles to himself as Hawke talks with the guards. Apparently, not only is the fugitive a mage, but he also kidnaps and kills little elven children. Fenris had never been one for kinship, but the thought of that made his teeth itch.

He had never really seen Hawke angry before, so it takes him by surprise when the mage threatens to kill the man. Not that he disagrees, but it still caught him off guard that Hawke got so furious when elven children were brought into it. Of course, the guard threatens Hawke, but seeing the three angry men ready to defend the mage, he sheepishly backs down. _A wise choice._

Hawke is practically foaming at the mouth when they enter the cave. When the first set of spiders drop down from the ceiling, Hawke attacks with such tenacity that the creatures are all dead before anyone else noticed they were is eating at the mage, that much is obvious. In fact, everyone seems even more tense than usual. Fenris shrugs, strangely in better mood than he had been in all week. Of course, he had to be the odd one out. If everyone else is happy, he's sour. If everyone else is bitter, he's cheerful. Go figure.

"These spiders and skeletons are the 'monstrous creatures' the guards couldn't face?" Carver scoffs. "Now, I'm glad I wasn't accepted."

And then they find the girl. She stands in front of them shakily. "W-Who are you? Please, help me get out of here…"

"Lia?" Hawke blinks. "You father told us you were dead!"

The little elf tells them about the man who kidnapped her, but only one thing she says catches Fenris's attention. _He let her go?_ Not that he sympathizes with people like that, but what's the point of kidnapping someone if you just let them go?

Then she mentions the demons, and Fenris inwardly groans, hoping the abomination is taking notes. _Yet another_ mage they meet who has turned to demons. What a shock. The girl argues that the demons are the cause of all this, but Hawke just jokes it off as usual. "She is a child and does not understand," Fenris adds softly. "Her pity is admirable but misplaced."

Hawke shakes his head. "Sorry, Lia, but he has to die. He's a danger."

"But it's not his fault!" she protests. She is actually defending the man who kidnapped her, beat her, and threatened to kill her? Hawke ignores her pleas and helps her get out of the ruins.

Kelder is just ahead. He sits on the ground, hardly even noticing them. "I knew my father you eventually send someone."

Hawke raises a dark eyebrow. "A magistrate sent me, not your father." Kelder gives him a pointed look, and Hawke inhales sharply. "The magistrate _is _your father."

"So, that's why the guards couldn't do the job," Carver muses.

"The magistrate's more worried about keeping his job than doing his job," Hawke sighs.

Kelder immediately starts defending his father and then talking nonsense about demons and beautiful elves. Hawke seems just as confused as Fenris. "Let me get this straight: a demon makes you kidnap and torture elf girl because they're too beautiful?"

Then, the mage makes a smart choice, surprising Fenris. He begs them to kill him. The elf opens his mouth to happily volunteer, but Hawke beats him too the punch. Within seconds, Kelder is bleeding out on the ground. "Good riddance," Hawke spits out.

When they get back outside, the elf girl and her father quickly run up to them, thanking all of them profusely. The guards shoot them dirty looks from afar, the cowards.

Soon, they head back to Kirkwall. The magistrate is furious that they killed his son instead of bringing him in. As soon as the man leaves them, Fenris stops, hearing the familiar clank of armour. He notices the abomination bristle at the sound as well.

Hawke turns around, crossing his arms defensively to face off the templar. "And what, pray tell, do you need?"

"You are Hawke," the templar says, stating the obvious. "There are whispers around the city that you aid those in need."

"I really need to work on my reputation," Hawke groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Please, serah, you see that woman over there?"

"The one crying?" Hawke guesses.

"Yes, her name is Macha, and her brother is a templar. She believes that her brother is missing and something sinister has happened," the templar explains.

Hawke raises an eyebrow. "And you're telling me this…?"

"I am hoping you will help," the templar states. "We can…not look into this. But you are not a templar and are not bound by our rules."

"Is there a reason you can't look into it?"

The templar clears his throat, the sound reverberating through his helmet. "She…she suspects Knight-Commander Meredith."

The abomination tenses at the very name. Fenris looks from him to the templar and back. "Is this someone we should know?"

"She's only the head of the templars," the abomination points out.

Fenris smirks. "I like her all ready."

"Do you just like things because I hate them?" the abomination gripes, whirling to face him.

"Yes, actually."

The abomination turns back, mutter something about a "damned, blighted elf," and Fenris smiles wickedly. _It's good I can still take pleasure in the small things._

* * *

Carver—

The blonde woman sobs in front of the Chantry, only stopping when Garrett approaches her. "Y-You…the templar said you could help. My…my brother!" She chokes back another sobs, and Garrett pats her arm reassuringly.

"Don't worry," he says as he steps back. "Helping people and killing people are what I'm best at." Her face blanches at the second part of that sentence, and Carver has to restrain himself from slapping Garrett upside the head.

"We heard your brother was missing," Carver steps forward, shooting his brother a glare. Garrett looks at him in amusement but steps back, letting Carver take the lead on this one. "Tell us about him."

Macha wipes her eye and looks up at him, her impossibly blue eyes wide. "Keran was always so devout, so idealistic… He was so proud when the templars accepted him. I told him not to join the Order, but he wouldn't listen."

Carver raises an eyebrow. "Being a templar is a noble profession. Why didn't you want him to join?"

She looks around as if to make sure no one is listening in. "You hear dark rumours about the templars and Knight-Commander Meredith. And now my brother is gone."

Anders starts to say something, but Carver cuts him off with a sharp look over his shoulder. He did _not_ want to get in the templar/mage debate now. He turns back to Macha. "Why do you think he's in trouble?"

"He stopped writing me letters."

"And?" Carver motions. "Templars lead busy lives."

"I've gotten a letter from him every day since he joined the Order. Until now," Macha pauses. "I tried to see him, but the Knight-Commander threw me out. They won't tell me anything."

Carver thinks for a moment in silence. "He may be in trouble. Even he's not, I don't want to risk anything. How can I help?"

Macha throws her arms around Carver. "Oh, thank you, serah! I had all but lost hope that someone would ever help me!" The young warrior awkwardly shifts to pat her back, and she pulls away. "If you go to the Gallows, talk to the recruits Wilmod and Hugh. They were his best friends there."

"I will do all I can for your brother," Carver says sincerely. The woman's cheeks flush as they turn to walk away.

Garrett pulls up beside Carver, a lopsided grin on his face. "Perhaps I should let you take charge more often."

"Brother, I've been saying that for a year now," Carver teases.

They head for the Gallows and, upon arriving, immediately find a small group of Templars gossiping like old maids. "Do any of you know a recruit named Keran?"

A woman with straw blonde hair crosses her arms, giving Carver a pointed look. "We cannot speak to you, messere."

A recruit with a ridiculous moustache raises an eyebrow at the woman. "He's just asking if we know Keran. What harm could come of that?"

"Knight-Captain Cullen said we were not to speak to anyone about him," the woman retorts.

"To the Void with that!" the one in the middle exclaims. "Keran and the others are missing, and nobody's doing a blighted thing to help them!"

Carver raises an eyebrow in amusement, catching a similar reaction from Garrett out of the corner of his eye. These recruits couldn't keep their mouth shuts. They'd spill everything, and he probably wouldn't have to speak again.

"But our orders…" Moustache Man says nervously.

The man in the middle looks between his companions. "If the knights aren't going to at least look into this, maybe we should ask for outside help."

The woman glares at him. "A knight-lieutenant gave us an order! We must obey, without question. They told us not to breathe a word about Keran and the others."

"And why would they do that?" he argues. "Are we to leave our fellow templars to the wolves?"

"They must have their reasons," she responds meekly.

"And that'll be a great comfort if you go missing next."

She looks at him in shock. "Me? Why would I go missing? I haven't done a thing."

"Neither did they," Moustache Man points out.

The man in the middle nods his agreement. "The first ones disappeared weeks ago. There's at least half a dozen missing. I know some dirty templars, and they're all still in the city."

The woman glares back at him. "Well, if it's not because they've done something wrong, then why are they all gone?"

Moustache Man looks around nervously. "I hear that Knight-Commander Meredith has some initiation you have to go through. If you're not strong enough of fervent enough in belief, you don't make it out alive."

"Poppycock," the woman laughs. "You honestly believe that?"

"You hear about some…_questionable_ things that the Order must do these days. The Knight-Commander only wants templars who can do what must be done."

"Andraste alive!" the middle recruit exclaims. "She's killing recruits that might question her orders, isn't she?"

"That's rubbish. She wouldn't do that," the woman says.

The other man looks at her pointedly. "Recruits keep going missing."

"Wilmod came back," she fired back. Carver and Garrett immediately exchange a silent look. If a missing recruit returned, he was who they needed to speak to next. Apparently, the other recruits hadn't heard that yet, looking at her in shock. "He did. I saw him this morning."

"And you waited 'til now to say anything? Is he okay?" the man in the middle asks.

"He said he was going outside Kirkwall to 'clear his head.'"

He turns to her in disbelief. "Why didn't you tell us this?"

"Knight-Captain Cullen ordered me to keep quiet right before he chased after Wilmod."

"And of course, you do _everything _the Knight-Captain says, don't you?" he teases.

The woman blushes. "He…He is our leader. I'm supposed to obey. We must look to him for guidance."

"And what guidance did you receive from those swaying hips?"

"I-I…what are you saying? I've done no such thing!"

"Mmh," the male recruits look at each other, exchanging smiles.

"O-Okay, maybe for a minute, just…just so I knew where to walk."

"Oh, that must be it," the man in the middle grins.

"I hate you," she spits out, her cheeks furiously red. "You're a bad person."

The Hawke brother turn and walk away, the recruits having forgotten them long ago. As they leave the Gallows, Carver and Garrett burst out laughing. "Easiest interview ever."

Carver groans as they reach the Wounded Coast, and Garrett chuckles behind him. As they round the corner, they see two templars in a heated encounter. "Andraste be my witness, Wilmod, I will have the truth from you _now_!"

The younger man—Wilmod—looks utterly terrified. "Mercy, ser, mercy!"

"Were it that easy," the other man, probably Knight-Captain Cullen, growls.

"Don't hit me!" Wilmod cries.

Cullen knees the recruit through his armour, and Wilmod crumples to the ground. The older templar pulls out his sword, pointing it at the other man. Anders steps forward, seething. "If this is how they treat each other, just think how bad the recruits have it."

"Nice to see they're branching out," Garrett jokes.

The knight-captain finally notices them, barely casting them a sidelong glance. "This is templar business, stranger. Be on your way."

A strange cackling comes from Wilmod as his skin begins to glow and his form shifts into that of an abomination. Other abominations rise from the ground. Carver and Fenris each draw their swords, planning to attack, when Garrett holds an arm out to stop them. "Is this still templar business?"

"_Garrett_!" Carver yells, knowing the templar is overwhelmed.

"Please!" Cullen calls back. "Please help!" The elder Hawke lowers his arm, and the warriors dash forward. When an abomination lifts up in the air mysteriously before slamming to the ground, Cullen's eyes widen in shock. When the last one is dead, he storms over to Garrett. "You…you are-"

Carver slides in between the two, holding his blade out threateningly. "Responsible for saving you?"

Cullen eyes the younger Hawke angrily, looking as if he's fighting back his words, before he sighs. "I suppose…thank you." The knight-captain turns to look where Wilmod's body had once been. "I knew…I knew he was involved in something sinister."

"Does this have to do with his disappearance?" Carver asks.

The templar raises an eyebrow. "So, you know? Is it common knowledge? No, no. The recruits were gossiping again, weren't they?" Carver just grins, and Cullen chuckles. "By the Maker, they're worse than old biddies. But, to answer you question, yes. I believe so. I have been investigating the recruits' disappearance."

"Wilmod was the first to return?"

Cullen nods. "I have a small favour to ask of you."

"Doesn't everyone?" Garrett groans from behind Carver.

"Hush!" Carver calls back. "It's my turn to be the main character."

The templar raises an eyebrow. "I will not ask why you have taken an interest, but since you have, I wonder if you would aid me in finding our best recruit Keran."

"He's actually the one we're looking for."

"Perfect. They were last seen together at the Blooming Rose. I had no luck interrogating the, ah, young _ladies_ there."

"Oh, we can definitely go there," Garrett adds in. Carver shoots a look his way, and the mage ducks his head in mock bashfulness.

"I thank you. Keran is a good man. I'd hate to see him end up like his friend," Cullen says sadly.

The sun had long since set by the time they reach the Blooming Rose. Viveka smiles at they walk into the room. "Well, well. Good to see you again, Carver." He feels the other's eyes on him, and his cheeks flush pink.

He scratches the back of his head nervously. "Ah, hi, Viveka. We're, uh, here looking for some templars."

"Well, one came in earlier today, but he scared the girls so much, Madam Lusine kicked him out," Viveka says with a smile.

"So, we heard," Carver chuckles. "Think you can check the books for me?"

"Sure thing, honey." She turns to read through the open book sitting on the counter. _I wonder how many times my name's in there?_ He jumps when Garrett nudges him in the side, raising an eyebrow and mouthing the word _honey?_ Carver turns back to Viveka, his cheeks even redder. "Ah, here it is. The both of them last saw Idunna the Exotic Wonder from the East."

Carver scrunches his nose. "Why in the Maker's name would they go see Idunna?"

Viveka laughs. "I wondered that myself for awhile. Then I realized: they're templars. She's a…_ahem_." She doesn't say the word outright, but everyone knows exactly what she means. "The forbidden fruit is always the sweetest, no?"

"I do _not_ want to think about Idunna's…fruit," Carver groans.

The woman laughs again. "Oh, I hadn't even thought of it that way!"

"Uh huh," Carver deadpans. "Sure you didn't."

She nods her head towards an upstairs room. "You might want to go hurry before someone decides they want a taste of Idunna's fruit."

"_Maker, Viveka!_" Carver exclaims before rushing up the stairs, leaving a howling woman behind them.

"That was cute," Garrett states. "I thought Faith was your favourite?"

Carvers stops, obviously startled. "Where did you—Isabela…" he sighs, shaking his head. "Viveka's not one of the girls. She's a friend."

"That did not seem like a usual friendship," Fenris joins in.

"Have you seen where she works?" Carver replies with a smile.

"So, it is like that?" Anders asks.

_Maker, why are they all prying? _"It's not like that at all."

"I don't believe you," Garrett teases.

"Fine, don't," Carver shrugs, a knowing smile growing on his face. "Would it help if I told you she wasn't interested in me? Or any man for that matter?" Seeing the shocked looks over the other men's faces, he can't help but laugh loudly.

"Oh," Garrett breathes. "So, she's…?"

"Interested in women? Yes, severely so," Carver grins. "I told it wasn't like that."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's just go see this Idunna," his brother grumbles.

They walk into the room Viveka had motioned too, and Carver stops suddenly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Idunna."

The woman turns around, revealing a darkly beautiful face. "Ah. Carver. I thought you made it clear on where we stood last time I saw you?"

"Nothing has changed," he states bluntly. "I just need information."

"And what makes you think little old me knows anything?"

Carver shakes his head. "Don't act coy, Idunna. It doesn't work, and it's pathetic. Just tell me if you've been with any templars lately."

Idunna crosses her arms over her well-endowed chest. "You can't call a woman pathetic and then ask for her help, Carver dear."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Idunna, just tell me, and I'll leave."

She sashays over to the bedside, moved her hips with an exaggerated movement before sinking onto her bed seductively. "What if I don't want you to leave? Questions are boring. Why don't we have some real fun?"

Carver eyes her with contempt, a grimace spreading over his face. "You really need to polish your act. Sabine's brat has better moves than you."

"That's a lie!" she exclaims, before taking in and releasing a deep breath, sinking back into her pseudo-relaxed state. "And who's this? Your brother? My, my, so the looks cover the whole family then."

Garrett laughs loudly. "Oh, you are so barking up the wrong tree."

Idunna raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow, and Carver chuckles good-humoredly. "You know how Viveka is?" At her nod, Carver motions to his brother, who given her his flashiest smile. She still looks confused, so Garrett grabs the front of Fenris's armour, pulling him into a deep kiss.

The room is silent afterwards. Idunna's eyes are big enough to rival her breasts. Anders glares on in anger. Fenris just looks confused. Garrett grins stupidly, and Carver casts him an unimpressed glance. "That was a bit much, don't you think, Brother?"

Garrett just snorts in response. Idunna clears her throat. "I…see. Truly, that is not what I was expecting."

"I get that a lot," Garrett laughs.

"I never knew your brother swung the other way," Idunna says, turning to Carver.

"Why would you? It doesn't concern you," Carver responds.

"It doesn't bother you?"

Carver leans in, his face inches from Idunna's. "Not at all."

The woman lurches forward, wrapping her arms around Carver's neck and pulling him into a kiss. Anders, relieved of his anger, bursts out laughing, while Fenris looks on, even more confused. Neither of them notice how hard Garrett's face is or how his hands clench into tight fists.

But Carver does.

He pulls back, gagging at the woman. "Urgh, if your lips taste that bad, I pity those who have tasted your fruit."

The others roar with laughter as Idunna sputters around for a retort. "M-My _what?!_" When they won't stop, the woman leaps up, growls fiercely, and waves her hand in front of her. Instantly, the four men freeze, each staring at her with surprise, fear, and…desire. "I've had enough of this," she growls. "Who told you about me?"

"I…" Carver struggles against it, finding it hard to keep his will. _Some sort of magic, then?_ "I…won't…tell."

"How disappointing," she deadpans, turning to face Fenris, seductively draping an arm over his shoulder. "You there, little elf. Who told you about little old me?"

"It…Viveka," the elf spits out, gasping for breath.

"Not so hard, now was it?" Idunna detaches herself from Fenris and returns to Carver. "Your ugly friend sold me, ah? She will dealt with. But, you first." She reaches underneath her skin and pulls out a short albeit sharp blade. "This knife and bring it gently across your throat."

As if someone else were controlling his body, Carver helplessly watches as his hand reaches out and takes the blade, positioning it at his neck. "I…I…"

Before he can do anything, a loud shriek escapes Idunna's full lips, blood rising up to paint them instead of rouge. The four men gasp for breath, free of her magic as she crumples to the ground, dead. They turn towards the door and see Viveka standing there, one dagger in her hand, the other in Idunna's back. She smirks at the four. "I was never here, was I?" Instinctively, all four shake their heads. Viveka smiles. "It's about time this happened. Idunna was losing her touch anyway."

"That's what I said!" Carver laughs, walking towards Viveka. He draws the woman into his arms and whispers in her ear. "Thank you, for saving me, I mean. I owe you."

"Thanks for not selling me out," she whispers back.

They pull away from each other, and Viveka turns to leave. She pauses on her way out and looks over the shoulder. "If any of you feel obliged to thank me, I would enjoy it if one of you could perhaps arrange a meeting between me and certain pirate you all know?"

Carver chuckles as she walks out of the room, turning to face to others. "I think I like your friend a lot more now," Anders says.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Anders—

_What's the point in fighting for the mages' plight if they keep proving me wrong by using blood magic?_

It made him feel terrible, but, inwardly, Anders feels relieved when Tahrone is dead. Many mages turn to the forbidden magics because of templar pressure, but that bitch was just crazy. Thankfully, Hawke takes pity on young Keran and doesn't even mention the blood magic to Meredith's crony Cullen.

It's all ready dark when they get back to Lowtown, planning to go to the Hanged Man for drinks. What they weren't counting on was a flaming Chantry sister stupidly walking into a mugging voluntarily. More out of amusement than any desire to save the woman, they quickly take care of the thugs.

"My thanks," the sister says once the battle is over. "I…am out of my element."

"No shit," Carver laughs.

"Why in the Maker's name are you wandering around Lowtown at night?" Hawke asks the woman.

She clears her throat, looking around cautiously. "I am looking for someone capable of bloody skill but also integrity."

"So, you come to Lowtown?" snorts Hawke.

"It led me to you, did it not?"

A look of confusion passes over Hawke's face. "I'm sorry, have we met before?"

"Maker, I hope not," the woman exclaims. "But, I thank Him that He led me to you now."

"So, why exactly are you looking for me?"

"Not you, per se. Someone unknown. Someone who might leap to the aid of a stranger."

Carver nudges his brother teasingly. "I told you, Garrett. Nothing good comes from us helping others."

"They always want more," Hawke jokes back. "We should've just stayed on with Meeran."

The sister looks between the brothers, confusion written on her sharp features. Anders shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ignore them."

She clears her throat, obviously wanting to get back to business. "I have a charge who needs passage out of the city. If you are able and willing, come to me." She hands Hawke a slip of paper. "Ser Varnell?"

A templar steps out of the shadows. Anders bristles visibly. "Guess she's not so helpless," Hawke murmurs as the two walk off.

"Are we really going to do this?" Anders asks, turning to confront their leader.

The other mage merely shrugs. "Why not? It's not like we have anything better to do."

They follow Hawke down the streets of Lowtown until they come to the abandoned building where the sister is. Coincidentally, it's across the street from Gamlen's house. Hawke tests the door and, finding it unlocked, enters the building.

The templar stands in the front room, his sword drawn angrily glaring the group down. "Down, boy!" Hawke commands teasingly.

The sisters walks into the room, and the templar puts away his sword after a quick word from her. "Thank you for coming."

Hawke crosses his arms over his chest, looking the sister over. "Want to tell me what this is about now?"

"Fine. My name is Sister Petrice. This is a…delicate matter. I needed to find someone with of limited notoriety who has no link to me."

"Is this illegal?" Hawke frowns. The sister does sound awfully suspicious.

"No, nothing of the sort," she says plainly. "It is only it's nature which makes it unique." She turns to Ser Varnell and simply nods her head. He disappears into a back room momentarily before returning, a new person in tow. Anders's jaw drops open. _No, not one of them…_

"A saarebas?" Fenris questions, surprising him with his knowledge of the Qunlat word. "Here?"

Sister Petrice looks up at the Qunari mage, bound in chains, lips sewn together. "Would a templar bind a mage like this?"

Hawke ignores her question, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "How did you come to possess a Qunari mage?"

"Through some…unfortunate circumstances, we found him. His brethren had been slain and he was all that was left," she says.

"If his kaaratam was killed, the saarebas will be executed upon return," Fenris states, a note of pity in his voice.

"Which is why I do not want him returned," Sister Petrice agrees. "He must be free."

"Very well," Hawke says after a long period of silence. "We'll help him."

A small smile tugs at the sister's lips. "Wonderful. I call him Ketojan, a bridge between worlds."

"Ketojan, then," Hawke muses, stepping towards the giant kossith. Ketojan growls, a low rumbling in his throat, but the noise is more submissive than threatening. Hawke clears his throat nervously. "Well, ah, hate to break it to you, but he's a bit…conspicuous for the streets of Lowtown."

Sister Petrice seems surprised at the thought. "I had not planned for you to leave through the city. There is a secret door in the safehouse that leads through the Undercity and to the Wounded Coast."

"Why is it always the Wounded Coast," Carver mutters under his breath, causing both Anders and Fenris to crack a smile.

"All right then," Hawke says. "Let's go, ah, Ketojan." The kossith rumbles again and follows behind the mage.

Anders notices how Fenris watches the Qunari as they make their way into the Undercity. "He has the eyes of a slave," the elf finally says softly. "I wonder, does he want freedom or a master?"

"Who knows?" Carver scoffs. "Let's just get this shepherding over with."

Almost as soon as they reach the dusty, dirty passages that make up the Undercity, they are attacked by spiders. Ketojan stands aside, just watching, as his escorts cut through nests of the eight-legged insects.

"He is strangely indifferent, even with his freedom as the prize," Fenris muses as they walk along. Other than his comment, the only audible sound is the clanking of the heavy metal collar and shackles that restrain Ketojan.

"Well, well, what've we got here? A walking armoury?" Anders groans loudly as he notices the group of men standing in their path, obviously a group of thugs. "The Undercity is feared by all, but there's no limit to the fools with coin willing to test it."

"Can they not see our weapons? We have a Qunari with us, for the Maker's sake," Carver cries. "Why in the Void would they try to pick a fight with us?"

A nervous man behind the leader looks from one member of Hawke's party to the other, visibly worried. "Uhh, maybe we should let these ones pass."

"A voice of reason. What's he doing with you?" Hawke smoothly responds.

Suddenly, Ketojan jumps forward, a blast of pure magic sending everyone flying away from him. Though the magic was powerful, everyone seems to be okay. Except for the gang leader. His second goes over to his still form, prodding him with the toe of his boot. When he rolls the man over, he jumps back, eyes growing wide at the dagger in his chest. The dagger he'd secretly drawn to attack Hawke.

"By the Void!" the second cries. "Kill them—kill _it_!"

Ketojan does not move again until the fight is over, frozen in his rage of magic. "Enough, Ketojan!" Hawke cries. When the kossith does not respond, Hawke shakes his head and tries again. "Qunari, Saarebas! They're all dead. We're safe."

Suddenly, the magic withers and dies, leaving an electric and buzzing sensation in the air. Ketojan growls, almost proudly. Hawke crosses his arms, obviously befuddled as to how to deal with the Qunari, and argues with the giant's growls. Despite how cross Hawke looks, Anders can't help but smile and think how humorous this whole situation is.

"I wonder," Fenris says as he goes to stand next to Hawke, "how much of this is just blind instinct?"

"The sister presumed a lot from grunts and twitches," Carver notes, raising an eyebrow. "He doesn't even seem to _want_ to escape."

Hawke says, giving up on communicating with the Qunari. "Let's go. The exit's right there."

As soon as they step outside of the tunnel, they all notice a huge group of kossith sitting around a campfire as tall as one of their people. "How did I know this job would end in more Qunari," Hawke grumbles, and Anders chortles.

One of them stands up and steps towards them. "Hold, basra vashedan. I am Arvaarad, and I claim this Saarebas at your heel."

"I think this may have been a trap," Carver states, showing his strong grip on the obvious.

Arvaarad furrows his brow. "You make it sounds as if ignorant. This Saarebas's karataam was slain, their bodies leading a trail to here and to Saarebas."

"We didn't kill his karataam," Hawke says defiantly. "We were tasking with leading this Qunari to freedom."

"Saarebas has only followed you because he wants to be lead," Arvaarad sharply says. "He is allowed no other purpose."

"He will choose his own purpose now."

Arvaarad lunges forward, lifting a metal rob above his head. Ketojan freezes, plummeting to the ground. "Saarebas, show that your will remains to the Qun!"

"Why, you—! Release him!" Hawke cries.

"We have tolerated your incompetence for too long," Arvaarad shouts. The rest of the Qunari behind him approach, drawing their weapons. "You will all be brought to the Qun!"

The fight with the Qunari reminds Anders of the first time he was in Amaranthine, fighting alongside Ink, Hero and Warden-Commander of Ferelden. Only this time, he was fight giants instead of poisonous corpses. He couldn't decide which one he'd rather be fighting.

Though it takes away, soon the Qunari are dead. Fenris lies on the ground, still recovering from the fight, and Carver kneels next to him, administering a healing potion. Ketojan stands as soon as Hawke points the control rod at him, and they all hear his voice for the first time.

"Unbound," he murmurs in a deep, rough voice. It was an attractive, masculine voice, even if it did come from a purple giant. Ketojan turns to regard Hawke closely. "Odd, wrong. But…you are worthy of honour, even if your actions were mislead. You are Basvaarad, worthy of following."

Then, Ketojan turns to walk towards the cliffs. "I thank you for your effort, but I must follow the wisdom of the Qun."

Hawke jogs to catch up to the kossith, and Anders trails behind closely. "Wait, what? You're going back? They'll kill you."

"I can not go back," Ketojan says softly, sadness tingeing his words.

"What if I hadn't killed Arvaarad?" Hawke asks. "Would you have been able to return?"

"No."

"You were doomed from the start?" Hawke cries incredulously.

Ketojan looks down at him curiously, as if surprised that it is hard for the others to understand. "I was away from my karataam. I may be corrupted. I don't know. How I return is my choice."

Anders can hardly contain his rage. "Of all the ridiculous, spineless, mind-controlled, senseless piece of shit arguments I've ever heard!" Despite the situation, Hawke chuckles beside him.

Ketojan doesn't find his comment nearly as funny as Hawke does. "What comfort has freedom brought you, mage? You would have more if you submitted to the Qun."

"Comfort does not come from—"

"Certainty is comfort," Ketojan states solemnly. "Certainty is in the Qun."

Anders shuts his mouth, realising that there's no point in arguing with the kossith. Hawke, however, doesn't seem to be finished. "Well, that's just great. I fought a slew of Qunari so you could just die anyway."

Ketojan ignores Hawke's acidic comment, stopping where he stands. "Take this secret thing, Basvaarad. Remember this day." He drops a simple talisman into Hawke's hand before taking a step away.

Before either of them can do anything, Ketojan suddenly erupts into a column of flame. He doesn't scream or cry, not showing any signs of pain. Instead, he throws his head back as if surrendering his very soul to the Qun. In less than a minute, his body falls limply to the ground and continues burning.

"By the Maker," Anders whispers. He turns to look at Hawke, both men staring at each other in shock.

"L-Let's just…go back."

Garrett—

He rolls the talisman around in his hand, examining every part of it. It's of a simple shape on a leather cord. The uneven polish is not a failure of workmanship; rather the result of exacting and repeated study by powerful hands. Black glimmers curl just beneath a surface that should be solid, and there are glimpses of a core that seems to be carved from a piece of horn. If he looks at it too long, it begins to seem to stir something in an uncommonly dark corner of his mind, coaxing out a familiar, primal emotion: want. It is impossible to say whether Ketojan intended this as reinforcement or restriction. At the moment, it simply _is_.

This secret thing was never meant for the eyes of another.

His throat tightens as his mind wanders to Ketojan. He had seemed so sure, so positive in the correctness of the Qun. Garrett could never say that he had felt so strongly about anything in his life. _Except, maybe…_

His eyes drift away from the charm to Carver's empty pallet, a sharp pain striking in his chest. He's probably at the Blooming Rose again. For some reason, that upsets him more than usual.

_No point worrying about it though._ He carefully places Ketojan's talisman in his bag and rids himself on his tunic before slipping into the thin sheets on his pallet. He was just about to fall asleep when the door opens, dim candlelight spilling into the otherwise dark room. "Garrett? You awake?"

Carver stands in the door way, a small lantern in his hanging from his hand. Garrett sits up, a yawn slipping past his lips, and rubs at his eyes. He looks up at his brother sleepily. "What is it?"

"I…" Carver hesitates, casting his eyes downward, "I need to talk to you." Garrett swallowed the lump rising in his throat. Carver never sounded this serious. He nods, edging his brother to continue. "About that Qunari mage today…"

Garrett sighs and pats a spot on the pallet next to him. Carver sits down and sets the lantern on the floor between the two. The two brothers face each other, the lantern the only light in the room. "What about him?"

"They chained and collared him. They sewed his flaming mouth shut!" Carver sighs, obviously shaken. "I know magic can be dangerous, but that's…that's too far."

Garrett grimaces. "I agree. I couldn't believe that Ketojan just…killed himself like that."

"The Qun is a terrible thing," Carver says softly, "yet I can't help but be drawn to it."

"What do you mean?" Garrett asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Everyone has a place. Everyone knows what to do and how to do it. But us?" Carver looks into his brother's eyes, an innocent and earnest look on his face. "Do we ever know what we're doing?"

"Not at all," Garrett grins. "But that's what makes it fun."

Carver frowns, tearing his eyes away from Garrett. "Maybe that's how the Qun has so many followers. They work slowly, making sense on simple thing, drawing you in until you're ready to commit without knowing anything."

Garrett falters, suddenly feeling uneasy. "Uh, Carver?"

"Oh, I'm not talking about me," Carver says quickly. "I could never—not to you or Mother or Gamlen."

"That's a relief," Garrett sighs, leaning back on his palms.

"I could never believe in something that says someone must be killed just because they're dangerous," Carver states. "I mean, if that's the case, then shouldn't everyone who knows how to use a weapon be executed?"

"Not you're starting to sound like Anders," Garrett teases.

Carver softly smiles back. "Maybe I'll stop while I'm ahead then. Anyway, I, ah, didn't want to banter about the Qun."

"Well, what did you want to talk about?"

"When I say what they had done to Ketojan, I got so angry. I didn't realise why—I've seen many human mages in conditions like that, even if they're not quite as extreme. Well, I didn't realise until we got back to Kirkwall. It made me think of…" he pauses, clearing his throat and looking away, "…you."

Garrett looks at him skeptically. "Me? Ah, I'm no Qunari, if you haven't noticed."

"I know, I know, It's just…" he pauses again. Whatever he's trying to say, he seems to really be struggling with it. "I though what I'd be like it anyone tried to do that to you."

"Hypothetically speaking, if we were Qunari, you'd think it were normal," Garrett points out.

Carver shakes his head, the pink in his cheeks easily distinguishable even in the dim lighting. "No, not with you. I'd kill them all. I'd go Tal-Vashoth for you."

Garrett blinks in surprise. It sounded almost…romantic. Very unlike his brother. "I…I think you've had too much to drink, Carv."

"Haven't had a drop," Carver smirks.

"You always drink when you go to the Blooming Room," Garrett states.

Carver chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his head. "Ah, about that…" Garrett raises an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. "I couldn't do it."

"I didn't know you had problems with _that_," Garrett teases.

The warrior's cheeks burn red. "I-I don't have problems. It's not that I couldn't, I just…wouldn't."

Garrett's heart flies into his throat at that for some reason. Just because his brother couldn't sleep with a whore didn't mean anything significant. "You wouldn't sleep with a prostitute."

Carver flashes his a boyish grin, sending a pang through Garrett's chest. "I paid for her, we went into the room, and I…didn't want to."

"You turned down a prostitute you all ready paid for?" Garrett snorts in laughter. "You could've at least gotten your money's worth."

"I realised there was someone special to me," Carver says softly.

This time, Garrett's heart plummets into his stomach. So his baby brother had found a girl. _Good for him. Yup, good for him…_ And he would've bet he knew who it was too. "You're finally going for Merrill, then?"

"Merrill?" Carver scrunches up his nose cutely. "Don't get me wrong, she's beautiful, but I'm no longer interested."

"Really? Who is it then?" Garrett asks.

Carver looks away, avoiding the question. "Uhm, Garrett? That night…" he starts, knowing that Garrett knows exactly which night he means. "I assumed it was an accident because of all the alcohol. Was it?"

Garrett's chest constricts, and he fights for his breath. Carver knows it's not true, otherwise he wouldn't have asked. So why ask? To embarrass him or to have a reason to hate him again?

Months of trying. Months of time and conversations and gifts. All wasted because of Carver's blighted curiosity. He'd hate him if he knew the truth. Carver would know if he were lying to him then. So why, why ask?

Suddenly, Carver leans forward, his face mere inches away from Garrett's. The mage feels his face redden as he stutters and stammers, at a loss for words. "Garrett, was it an accident?"

Garrett swallows the rising lump in his throat, his chest only growing tighter. " I-I thought we put this behind us. Why bring it up now?"

"Garrett," Carver warns.

"What happened to 'no harm, no foul,'" Garrett shyly whispers, nearly on the verge of tears.

"Garrett, for once in your life, give me a straight answer," Carver pleads.

The mage drops his head unable to look in his brother's eyes. "No. No, it wasn't. Are you happy now?"

The warrior releases his breath at once. "Very." Garrett's head snaps up at his response and that's when it happens.

Carver closes the distance between them, pressing his lips against his brother's. Garrett freezes, unable to respond. His mind flashes back to that night, only that time the roles were reversed. The kiss is far too brief and ends when Carver pulls back, an unreadable albeit happy look on his face. "Because I…I think I feel the same way."


	11. Chapter 11

So sorry this chapter's taken so long. I've been having some real life issues so I had to put this off for awhile. Thank you for sticking around and being so patient. You're all wonderful.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

Carver—

_By the Maker, I think I killed him._

He looks his brother over, concern pooling in his eyes as Garrett just stares up at him, utterly gobsmacked. Carver waves a hand in front of his eyes, and his eyelashes flutter in result. _Not much of a response but it's progress._

"I-I..wh-uh…oh, Maker…" Garrett mumbles.

"Garrett? Oh, by the Maker," Carver breathes. "I-I thought, you know. Did I get it wrong? You don't actually…"

The mage cuts him off by raising one of his hands. "N-No, I…I do. I just thought, you know. You're straight."

"You're telling me," Carver smirks. And he is, partially. He isn't attracted to any other man, just Garrett. "And somehow, it doesn't seem to fit anymore."

Garrett looks up at him shyly. "How long?"

"Uhm, progressively since that night," Carver falters, suddenly embarrassed. "But, I didn't really realize it until today."

The mage eyes his younger brother/new found lover? cautiously. "You're awfully…calm about this."

Carver merely shrugs. "Compared to some of the other things we've done since we arrived in Kirkwall, this isn't that disturbing."

"Fair point," Garrett nods before pausing. "So, what now?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm not quite ready to scream it from the rooftops."

Garrett smirks his agreement. "Or even tell our friends. They'd _never_ let us live it down. Just think of the things Varric would write."

"It would get Isabela off my back though," Carver smiles.

"Still, not a good idea," Garrett chuckles. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against Carver's. "How about this: we take it one day at a time?"

"Sounds wonderful," Carver grins back. Suddenly, his face blanches. "Uhm, Garrett? What about Mother?"

Garrett claps his hands over his eyes. "Oh Maker. I don't even want to think about that."

"So, we both agree she can never find out?" Carver asks. Garrett peeks at him from between his fingers and shoots Carver an icy look. "Okay, okay, I get it."

Garrett reaches out and caresses Carver's cheek softly. The warrior turns his head into Garrett's hand, sighing contently. "I still can't believe…"

Carver smirks, placing his hand on his brother's. "I guess I'll just have to prove it to you."

The mage purrs with interest and leans in towards the other man. Before he can do anything though, they both freeze at the voices in the hallway. "Gamlen, has Carver come home yet?"

"I don't know. Why don't you go look?"

"Oh shit," Carver mumbles, flinging himself from Garrett's cot to his own. He bellyflops onto the thin pallet, groaning in pain. He'd forgotten how hard the thing was. Despite the situation, he hears Garrett cracking up from his pallet.

He managed to throw the thin blanket over himself right before the door opens. "Is he there?" Gamlen asks.

"Shhh!" Leandra hisses before whispering softly. "I can't tell. It's too dark." Carver focuses on steadying his breathing, hoping that she'll just go back to sleep.

Garrett stirs, feigning a yawn. "Mother?" he calls sleepily. "What is it?"

"Didn't mean to wake you, love. We just checking to see if Carver's back yet."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, he's here," Garrett yawns again.

Leandra sighs in relief from the doorway. She says goodnight before shutting the door behind her. The brothers lay in silence until all goes quiet outside. Both let out a soft sigh of relief.

"So, uh," Garrett starts, "that was a little too close for comfort."

Carver snorts. "You think?"

"I guess we should go to sleep now. It is pretty late."

"Yeah…" Carver rolls over on his side, sighing deeply. He's happy, and he knows Garrett is, but this will definitely take some getting used to. _Especially with Mother around._

A pillow to the face wakes Carver the next morning. He grumbles and groans as he chucks the offending object back at Garrett, who easily dodges it. "Why are we getting up so early?"

Garrett grins down at him as he pulls on his fur-lined robe. It had been gradually getting colder, to Carver's dismay. He'd have to start wearing a jacket or something if he doesn't want to freeze in battle. "Varric suggested we go meet with a business man named Hubert. Apparently, he's having problems."

"Of course he is," Carver grumbles. He stretches and yawns before snatching up his tunic and pulling it over his head. He loving picks up his sword and straps it to his back. "Let's go meet this Hubert."

Leandra makes them eat a breakfast of warm oatmeal before she lets them leave. Although they complain about getting a late start, as soon as they step outside, Carver realizes Leandra had been right. They'd be even colder if they didn't have something warm in their stomachs.

They hurry to get a broody Fenris and cranky Anders before heading to the Hightown market. It's easy to tell who Hubert is from the strong Orlesian accent. "I hear you're having problem," Garrett starts. "I can help."

Hubert looks up at them in surprise. "Eh, finally someone comes to help. You look a bit new but capable at least."

"So, what exactly is wrong with your mines?" the mage asks.

"I have had to suspend operations. All my workers have been lost or run off." The Orlesion huffs indignantly. "That's what I get for hiring Ferelden refugees."

Garrett raises an eyebrow. "You hire Fereldens? Solely?"

"Of course," Carver chimes in. "Who else would be pathetic enough?"

"All of them are Ferelden. Unruly, the whole lot," Hubert groans.

"You realize that we're Ferelden," Garrett points out, motioning between himself and Carver.

Hubert simply shrugs. "I do not care where you are from, just that you are competent enough to get the job done."

"We'll go check things out for you," nods Garrett.

The journey to the Bone Pit is not long, but it is tiring and taxing. They scale paths along a mountain that are no wider than the length of a child. Fenris pauses as soon as they step on the property. Garrett turns to look back at him as a chill runs up the elf's back. "This is a cursed ground. Only wretched or ignorant souls linger."

They barely make it another foot before the looters jump out. The ragtag band of scavengers had been prepared only to steal from corpses. Hawke's merry band of mercenaries made easy work of them.

Anders sets his staff back in its holster and wrinkled his nose. "What is that _awful _smell?"

Fenris nods his head in assent. "A foul wind blows from that cavern. It smells of death."

"So, that's where we're going then?" Carver deadpans.

Garrett winks playful. "That's right."

A loud screeching sound pierces Carver's ears as they step into the cave. A strong wind blows his hair across his forehead. His eyes are drawn to Garrett, his long raven locks drift over his soft brown eyes. A soft gasp escapes his lips as those eyes flash to meet his own. A knowing smirk teases at Garrett's lips as he suggestively winks, causing Carver's cheeks to flush red.

The ground shaking beneath their feet draws their attention away from each other. "Oh, Andraste's flaming nipples!" Anders shouts. "What in the Void…?"

A large dragon slams into the ground, knocking everyone off their feet. "Maker, another dragon?" Carver groans as he stands up, drawing his sword in a smooth motion.

"_Another?!_" Anders cries as he fires a blast of lightning towards the beast.

Garrett ignores Anders's outcry and flashes his brother a bemused look before sending the dragon into a fit of horror. "At least it's not as big as Flemeth."

The dragon drops dead after a deep slash from Carver's sword. Anders looks at the two of them, flabbergasted. "Flemeth? As in _Flemeth_? The flaming Witch of the Wilds?"

Garrett shrugs at him, acting as if it's the most normal thing in the world. "We didn't tell you about that?" Anders claps his hands over his eyes, murmuring about these "Maker-shat blighters" that he calls his friends. That manages to get a smile even out of the elf.

"Well, let's see what's further on, then shall we?" Garrett offers with a smirk.

* * *

Fenris—

They finish up the work at the mines rather quickly, with the exception of the mature dragon. Fenris's hand goes to a tender spot on his side where the dragon's fire had heated his metal armour enough to scald his skin. Yes, it'll be sore for the next couple days.

The mage Hawke had been assisting in finding herbalism ingredients had requested a dragon's fang. The dragon's corpse had barely hit the ground before Hawke had pried the beast's jaw open and ripped out both fangs, one for the mage and one as a trophy.

Now, he and the abomination speak with the other mage about effective healing methods. Strange, considering that Hawke knows next to nothing about healing. _Still, mages of a feather flock together._ He frowns to himself. Maybe that wasn't how the idiom went…

Carver scratchs his head shifting his position slightly. They lean against one of the walls, waiting for the mages to finish their discussion. "Maker, how long can they talk about potions?"

"Who knows?" Fenris huffs. "I'm sick of the Gallows, though."

The younger Hawke casts a glance towards the huddle of mages. "Want to go get a drink at the Hanged Man? Seems like they'll be talking awhile."

Fenris shrugs. "Why not? It's not as if we have anything better to do."

The two warriors head for the giant staircase that leads towards the docking area to take return to Lowtown. Carver stops, laying a light hand on Fenris's shoulder. The elf turns to look at him, raising a dark eyebrow. Before he can say anything, Carver nods his head towards someone waving at them not-so-sleathily.

"Isn't that the templar?" Carver asks quietly.

"Cullen?" Fenris tilts his head. "Yes, it appears so."

"Why is he waving at us though? Garrett's his buddy."

Fenris observes the flurried gestures the templar is making. "It seems he beckons."

"What does he want with us?" Carver snorts. He pauses, looking from the templar to the elf. "Should we…?"

"Why are you asking me?" Fenris snaps. Carver visibly recoils, and Fenris softens. "I…guess we're all just used to following your brother."

Carver looks back at Cullen, who's flashing them an annoyed glare. "He's busy, so I guess we go talk to him?"

"Fine by me."

The two slowly amble over to Cullen, who looks relieved to finally have gotten a response. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever notice me."

"Was there something you wanted?" Fenris asks bluntly.

Cullen nods his head. "I told Knight-Commander Meredith of what you'd done."

Carver flashes a look in Hawke's direction. "More attention. Just what we need."

"She commends your quick thinking and agrees with your request to keep Keran on. She was most impressed with you," Cullen says as he offers Carver a soft smile.

The younger Hawke snaps back to attention. "Me?"

"When I spoke of you and your brother, she mentioned that you would make an excellent recruit if you so desired."

Carver falters. "You…the Knight-Commander wants me to be a templar?" A strange light washes over his face, and Fenris wonders if he is actually considering it. Although Hawke does support the templars, losing his brother to them might affect him greatly.

"I believe you would fit right in," Cullen nods. "Very few men have your determination and strength. The Knight-Commander is not an easy taskmaster, but this is not an easy task."

"Yet a necessary one," Fenris adds.

Cullen nods his head in agreement. "I used to believe that mages deserve a softer touch. I was young and foolish, blinded by a beautiful face." He lowers his voice, murmuring wistfully.

"Uh, what?" Carver blinks.

"Sorry, it's just, uh…" Cullen pauses, cheeks turning pink. "There was a girl back in the Ferelden Circle. She was kind and beautiful. I always stuttered and stammered like a fool around her, but she never noticed, or if she did, she didn't care."

"Wasn't the Ferelden Circle nearly destroyed?" Carver asks.

Cullen nods. "Indeed, by blood mages. If it weren't for the Wardens, we would've lost to them. That was what taught me to see the demon behind the sweet face."

"Well, when they actively consort with demons, it makes it a little easier to side against them," Carver says.

Cullen raises an eyebrow, obviously thinking about the apostate Hawke. "That is a surprisingly…unpopular viewpoint."

"Albeit a sensible one," Fenris nods.

They say their goodbyes and turn to walk off. They barely make it three feet before Carver stops and turns back around. "What happened to your girl back in the Circle?"

The heartbreak on Cullen's face strikes a chord in Fenris's heart, and the elf silently wishes Carver had never asked. "She died. Trying to resist the blood mages."

Fortunately, Hawke and the abomination rejoin them then, so Carver doesn't have the chance to say anything foolish again. Hawke notices the pained look on Cullen's face as the walk away, and concern flashes in his dark eyes. "What did you do to poor Ser Cullen?"

"Ah, nothing," Carver mumbles.

Hawke shrugs and leads them down from the Gallows. "Well, let's go talk to Hubert. I'm interested in seeing how he'll react to the news."


	12. Chapter 12

Hey, look who's back! So sorry it's taken so long to update. I was seriously stuck on how to get to my next point, but now I know exactly where to go from here. This chapter is pretty short, but it's building up to things! Also, there'll probably only be a handful more chapters, so the end is in sight. Feeling kind of bittersweet about that.

* * *

Chapter Twelve

Garrett—

_Everything about Orlesians is just so entertaining._

To say that Hubert was surprised would be an understatement. When Garrett told him of the dragons, he gasped and sputtered and flopped about like a caught fish. Then he surprised everyone and offered Garrett half his business. Garrett surprised everyone a second time by agreeing.

And now everyone is celebrating their newfound success at the Hanged Man.

"Hawke, I've never been more proud of you," Varric beams over his mug of ale. "You're a calculating businessman at last. Welcome to the family!"

"Too bad it's with an Orlesian," Aveline states as she pushes her mug away.

Isabella dives forward and scoops up the guard's refused ale and knocks it back at once. She sits back, eyes languidly drifting over Carver. He shifts awkwardly in his chair and scoots it a little closer to Garrett. On his other side, Merrill surveys the group. "Where's Anders?"

"And Fenris?" Aveline adds.

"Oh, this can't be good," Garrett sighs.

Varric shrugs nonchalantly. "They're probably both fine. Must just be a broody night."

"You're probably right," the mage nods. "Still, I think I'll go check on them when we're done."

"So, Hawke," Isabela purrs, leaning forward against the table, "how're you and the elf?"

Garrett raises a confused eyebrow, flashing a look towards Carver. "Fine."

"Everything going well?"

He pauses, obviously wondering what she's getting at. "Yes."

"So, let me ask you," she smirks, a familiar glint in her eyes, "how far down do the tattoos go?"

"And there it is," Varric laughs into his mug.

"I was beginning to wonder when you would start with the innuendos," Garrett grins.

"Well?" the pirate prods. "Don't keep us in anticipation."

"I don't think anyone else cares," Aveline says bluntly.

"Speak for yourself," Varric snorts.

Garrett shrugs. "Sorry, I don't _kiss and tell_."

Varric and Isabela explode into an uproarious laughter. Aveline mumbles about how she needs better friends. Taking another sip of his drink, Garrett feels Carver's eyes flash over to him, a scowl on his face.

"Honestly though? Haven't gotten that far," the mage says nonchalantly, noticing Carver visibly relaxes.

Isabela clacks her tongue, shaking her head. "Hawke, you tease."

"You walked right into that," he winks at her over his ale.

They drink for a little while longer before everyone heads home. Garrett, slightly buzzed from the alcohol, begins to make his way to Darktown. He still needs to go check on Anders and Fenris. A shadowy arm snakes out of an alley and pulls him back into the darkness.

Before he could respond, a pair of warm lips roughly take his. A familiar musky scent fills the air, and he presses back just as hard. "I was wondering when you'd come around," he slowly mumbles against the lips, "Carver."

"What was that," Carver breathes, "about the tattoos?"

Garrett pulls back just for a moment, looking into his brother's dark, hazy eyes. "You know, I still haven't seen your tattoo."

Carver blinks for a moment before smirking. "How did you know about that? You weren't at Ostagar."

"You were telling Fenris about it one day, weren't you?" Garrett smiles, his eyes drifting down to Carver's perfect lips. "I want to see."

Even in the darkness of the alley, Garrett can see his brother's cheeks flaming. After making an elongated choking sound, Carver clears his throat and flashes a small smile. "Well, I, ah, won't be able to show you out here."

"And why is that?" he asks.

"The location."

His previous destination long forgotten, Garrett feels another pang of desire at his brother's words. "Now that only makes me more curious. I _have_ to see it now."

"It probably wouldn't be a good idea to show you at Gamlen's though," Carver muses softly. "Neither of them have learned to knock."

Garrett playfully winks. "Well, you know, the Hanged Man is _right there_."

"Norah did mention that some rooms have recently opened up." The younger Hawke pauses a moment. "What about Varric and Isabela? They live there."

Garrett visibly deflates but only for a moment. One look at his brother's flushes cheeks and lust filled eyes is all it takes to convince him. It is worth the risk. Carver nods his assent and gives him a quick kiss. "Let me go rent the room."

As he walks away, Garrett leans against the wall. He could not tell is his heart was beating so fast because of anticipation or nervousness. Despite what the others may think, he is very inexperienced in this realm of romance. The fact that it will be with his brother – the man he loves – makes him even more apprehensive.

After waiting for what seems like an eternity, he takes a deep breath and heads inside. Luckily, all the patrons are too drunk or too distracted by their drink to recognize him, and the waitresses are all too busy. The only person who even looks in his direction is the strange man that chatters incessantly. He mumbles something about a conspiracy, but Garrett just pushes past him.

Heading back towards the rooms, he briefly wonders how he'll find Carver's room without having to knock on each door. When he gets there, though, he notices Carver's sword leaning against one of the doors. He tries picking it up, forgetting how heavy it is, and it clatters to the floor with a loud clang.

Carver walks up, shakes his head, and scoops up the sword without any effort at all. Garrett follows behind him, making faces at his brother's back. The younger Hawke looks over his shoulder just in time to notice and cracks up laughing. "Very mature."

As soon as he put the sword down, Garrett steps up, affectionately wrapping his arms around the other man's waist. "Now, weren't you going to show me that tattoo?"

* * *

Fenris—

The crisp night time air blows past him, carrying the familiar salty scent of the docks. Bright eyes drifting lazily, he notes that there is no one else around. The need of a bodyguard seems minimal. Of course, it could be that it is his presence deterring those with malicious intent.

On days when Hawke does not require his presence, he has begun selling his services as a mercenary. This night in particular, a trader had hired him to watch over his supplies after the ship arrived. So far, it has been one of his easiest assignments. No trouble, no problems. Easy gold. He should have known that thoughts like that practically invite trouble.

A loud commotion down the way catches him off guard. A cloaked figure comes sprinting in his direction, and he instinctively reaches for his sword. He hesitates when the person gets nearer and he recognizes who it is. _Anders? What is he doing here?_

From how flustered the mage looks, it can only be one thing: _templars_. The thought to let him get caught flashes through his mind, but he quickly pushes the treacherous idea away. After all the times the mage had saved his life in battle, he feels that he at least owes him that much.

Fenris clears his throat, loud enough for the mage to hear him. The other man turns sharply, a confused look on his face. The elf nonchalantly nods his head towards the crates covered by a tarp at his feet. Relief washes over the mage's face, and he quickly dives underneath the tarp.

Moments later, the templars round the corner, searching frantically. Being the only other visible person, Fenris is quickly spotted by the men. "You there, elf. We are hunting a dangerous apostate."

Fenris chokes back a chuckle. Now that he'd gotten to know Anders, he had realised that he was more annoying than dangerous. "I wish you luck in your endeavors."

The templar did not seem appreciative of his lackluster comment. "Have you seen a mage around here?"

"I've been positioned here for hours, and you and your fellows are the first people I've seen."

Sighing, the templar rubs his temples in frustration. "Yes, well, thank you for your _assistance._" With a quick command, the other templars follow him as they leave the docks.

Once he is sure they are gone, Fenris leans back, letting out a sigh. "They are gone, mage."

Anders crawls out from underneath the tarp, echoing the other man's sigh. "That was far too close." Lowering himself onto one of the crates, Anders watches Fenris with a careful eye. "Thank you for that."

"What were you even doing here? Alone?" Fenris shakes his head. "I thought you had more sense than that."

Anders sighs, running a hand through his mussed hair. "A boy came to my clinic, saying his father was a dockhand and had been injured on the job. When I got here, I realised it was a trap set up by the templars."

"How clever of them."

He shoots the elf a glare. "What are you even doing here?"

Fenris motions to the crates with a jerk of his thumb. "Guarding cargo."

"You're a hired hand?" Anders asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"It's a good way to make extra coin, since most of what we make is going towards the expedition."

The mage shrugs. "I just thought…you wouldn't want to work under others."

"_For_ not _under_," Fenris smirks. "This time, I'm getting paid."

The two sit in an uncomfortable silence. Anders fidgets nervously. "So, why'd you do it? You're always talking about how I should be turning into the templars, and that was the perfect opportunity."

"The night I first met Hawke, he made me promise that I would willingly work with his mage companions," Fenris responds. "I am a man of my word."

"So, you saved me for Hawke's sake?" the mage questions.

"Yes – Well, no I – " Fenris pauses a moment. "I…am unsure."

Anders says nothing, not quite sure how to interpret that. "Well," he says softly, "thank you nonetheless."

He stands to leave, but Fenris quickly reaches out to stop him. "A favour for a favour?"

"What do you mean?"

The elf nods his head towards the people attempting to sneak up on them. "Carta members, probably. Their numbers are more than I expected."

Anders nods, readying his staff. In one smooth motion, Fenris snatches up his sword and slices through the nearest assailant before she even knew that she'd be spotted. Firing blasts of ice, Anders would freeze the Cart members while Fenris shatters the ice blocks with his greatsword. In no time at all, their opponents are gone, leaving chunks of thawing body parts in the street.

"Well, that was easy," Anders chuckles. "How long do you have to stay out here?"

"Until the cargo owner comes to collect," Fenris responds, sinking back on top of one of the crates.

The dark sky above shows how much longer he could have to wait. Anders stands for a moment, mentally debating with himself before sitting back down onto another crate. Fenris raises a curious eyebrow in his direction, and the mage hesitantly shrugs. "Safety in numbers, right?"

Despite himself, Fenris finds a small smile pulling at his lips. "That there is."


End file.
